


Someone To Bring Me Home

by Myrime



Series: Homeward Bound [1]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bots as Tony's Children, Breaking Up & Making Up, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Marvel Universe Big Bang, Marvel Universe Big Bang 2018, Mechanic Tony Stark, On the Run, Panic Attacks, Protective James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Roadtrip, Secret basement, War Veteran Bucky Barnes, the bots are menaces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 13:35:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16577498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myrime/pseuds/Myrime
Summary: After coming home from the war, Bucky has a hard time piecing his life back together. He has friends and a home, but it all feels suffocating enough to send him running, hoping to find something worth living for.With Obadiah's betrayal hanging around his shoulders, Tony moves to the country, where he becomes a small-time mechanic with a secret workshop in the basement, trying to figure out how to go on from almost having lost everything.Neither of them is quite sure where home is anymore. When they meet, they both think themselves broken. Maybe all they need is someone who understands them to build something new.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second entry for this year's Marvel Big Bang.  
> Enjoy!

The bike breaks down in the middle of nowhere, but Bucky does not even have it in him to curse. Everything seems to come apart lately – or, more likely, nothing comes together. Becoming a prisoner of war, losing his arm, getting discharged with nothing else to do.

Steve, for some reason, has far less problems re-acclimatising himself to the life back home. Then again, he has Peggy and his art and a whole group of ex-soldiers to play mother for. Bucky is glad, of course, that he is not alone. So many of them come home and have nothing and no one. But it is too much at times, the constant worry, the frequent visits. It seems sometimes like Steve is spending more time at their old flat now that he has moved out than before, like he thinks Bucky cannot take care of himself.

Which is why, one night after coming home from dinner at Clint’s, Bucky rather spontaneously packed a single bag, took his bike, and left.

As children, they used to dream of driving through America, seeing the sights, getting to know their home. That never happened, but that young, scrawny Steve of the past is still a silent companion as Bucky drives mile after mile, trying to find himself, or at least something worthwhile to do.

Only now it has him standing at the side of a dirt road, the setting sun in his back, with no plan where to go and no working bike to get there. Rather stoically, he stares at the road ahead and, shrugging to himself, takes to push his bike forward. He will get somewhere, he silently argues. No one is expecting him, no one is anxious for him to return home. He can take his time. And if it gets too dark or he too tired, he has a tent. An American roadside is not the most uncomfortable place he has ever slept in.

As it turns out, he does not have to walk for long. A small town comes into view a few miles down the road and someone helpfully directs him towards a repair shop. Which, to his surprise, is still brightly lit when he gets there, despite the by now late hour. Loud music plays as he pushes his bike up the driveway, although no one is in sight, even while the door is wide open.

“Hello?” Bucky calls out cautiously, his voice drowned out easily by the music. Still, he must have made himself heard, for the volume drops abruptly to a much more bearable level, even though there is still no one in sight.

“What do we have here?” A man appears quite suddenly, who looks both exactly like a mechanic and not at all. He is shorter than Bucky but has well-defined muscles, visible through his grease-covered tank top. There is a smear of grease on his cheek too and his hair stands up wildly. At the same time, he has a meticulously trimmed beard, wears an expensive looking watch and – of all things to do in a workshop – is barefoot.

A small chuckle rips Bucky out of his staring, causing him to look up. “I’m Bucky,” he blurts out, giving no explanation for his presence at all, but the mechanic’s lips twitch, so he must not mind his sudden lack of words.

“Tony,” the man answers absentmindedly, already looking beyond Bucky towards his bike.

Bucky feels the loss of the brown eyes on him keenly. Which is a thought he immediately wants to smack himself for. Who thinks that about someone they had only just met? Or rather, who thinks that at all?

It takes Bucky several seconds to catch up. By then, Tony is already bowed over the bike, almost cooing, “What happened to you, gorgeous?”

And Bucky, idiot that he is, has already opened his mouth to tell the other man off, when he realizes the question is not directed at him. Feeling rather foolish, he is glad the mechanic does not pay him any attention, thus leaving his blunder unnoticed.

“I don’t know,” Bucky then says, once he has regained his composure, “she just stopped.”

He has not quite finished his sentence when the mechanic already has a screwdriver in sight and his hands all over Bucky’s bike. Strangely enough, he does not mind it, despite the fact that, at home, only Natasha is allowed to even look at it – and that is mostly due to everyone being too terrified to tell her no.

“What did he do to you?” Tony asks as if he expects the bike to answer audibly, crouching closer to better hear the unlikely answer.

Bucky, in response, is affronted. He does not have much and the bike is one of his few luxuries, more so because she is his means for escape. Although he feels immediately guilty for having thought that. His friends mean well, after all. “I didn’t do anything.”

The mechanic straightens abruptly. “And that’s the problem,” he scolds with a frown. “When was the last time you had her checked over?”

“I did that myself when I left New York.”

Tony’s eyes flicker down to Bucky’s hands, not in disbelief but interest, before asking, “New York?” like there is a secret message hidden in that. But then he shakes his head briefly. “When was that?”

“A while ago,” Bucky answers evasively. He does not like to think about the time passing without him finding what he is looking for – without him _knowing_ what he is even searching. Then he gestures at the bike. “So you can repair her?”

Tony looks like he is going to ask more questions but decides against it and pats the bike. “Easily,” he smiles, “although it might take one or two days, depending on whether I have the right parts on hand.”

The man, he decides, is gorgeous when he looks like that, entirely in his element like the shop is only an extension of him. How much Bucky longs for such a place for himself.

“That’s no problem,” he says, shrugging. There might not be much in the terms of sights here but he would not mind stretching his legs a little. “I’ve got nowhere to be.”

At once, Tony directs all is attention on Bucky, brown eyes glinting with mischief. “No wife waiting breathlessly for your return?”

Despite himself, Bucky laughs. The only one waiting is Steve and there is no question he would look good with an apron, intent on shepherding all his wayward children home.

“No girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Tony keeps asking, smiling openly.

“Nope,” Bucky says, wondering whether Tony is fishing for information here. Well, he does not have anything to hide. Nothing but bad things, in any case. And a slightly crazy family. “You need me to sign anything?”

It might be the cowardly way out but getting asked personal questions has the tendency to not end well, and if he has to be around for a couple days, Bucky does not want to make any trouble for himself by upsetting any townspeople with his unsocial ways.

“No,” Tony looks funny for a moment, like the mere thought of bookkeeping is boring him. Then he waggles his eyebrows in mischief. “You should definitely leave your phone number though. Just because I need to reach you somehow when I’m done with the repairs.”

“Naturally,” Bucky says, sarcasm oozing from the word. But he does not mind. It has been a while since anyone has asked for his number, under a pretence or not.

He slips off his gloves before he reaches inside his pocket to retrieve his phone. He notices his mistake too late, displaying the glinting metal of his arm this openly. The mechanic catches sight of it and freezes. Bucky gets that a lot, and it never gets less annoying, but something in the other man’s stare is different from the usual curiosity.

“Got a problem?” Bucky all but growls. Steve always tells him to be patient with people, but Bucky had his problems with that even before the accident. Nothing has gotten easier since then.

Tony grows visibly hesitant but then shrugs and says casually, “I can take a look at that too if you want.”

Bucky is taken aback, which is the only reason he does not laugh or lash out. Maybe he should take his bike and leave. He certainly prefers to walk over staying in the presence of a man with overflowing self-esteem. As if a prosthesis with neuron implants could be compared to repairing lawn mowers, and whatever else the mechanic usually earns his money with.

Ambling for a polite tone, he says, “It’s rather delicate.”

Delicate is not the right word for an arm he can easily break bones with, but the mechanisms inside are not as durable as the plating. But he thinks it gets the point across.

Tony, on the other hand, does not seem discouraged at all. He cocks his head to the side, staring intently at Bucky’s posture. “Move the arm to the side and back. Now bend it,” he orders, clicking his tongue impatiently when Bucky does not comply immediately.

Bucky knows what will happen; he just wonders how Tony does. Deciding to humour him, he does as instructed, wincing when he reaches the angle where something in the intricate machinery is blocked, hindering his movement.

Tony hums quietly, raising a hand to tell him to stop. “There, it hurts you. Neglected maintenance on that too during your little road trip?”

Ignoring the last part, Bucky shrugs like he does not care that he cannot move without pain. It is just one more thing he has become somewhat used to, especially since it is still better than the alternative of not having an arm at all.

“So you’re observant,” he says roughly, deciding that a clearer refusal might be needed. “Doesn’t mean you can repair it.”

“It’s a Stark prosthesis,” Tony says matter-of-factly, like that is enough of an explanation, but then elaborates when Bucky does not stop frowning. “I used to work for the program at Stark Industries, so I’m not a complete amateur.”

Which is not at all the answer Bucky has expected. That might solve the riddle of the expensive watch, but does not do much to reassure him otherwise.

“How does someone go from Stark Industries to being a mechanic in the middle of nowhere, repairing toasters and trucks?” He does not want to sound condescending and, thankfully, Tony does not seem to take it that way, although his smile fades as he shrugs.

“Family problems,” Tony answers simply, although the answer seems practiced in the same way Bucky has practiced what to say when someone asks him about the war. “Moved out here and took over the shop. Never looked back.”

Bucky somehow doubts that. He for one cannot imagine life without looking back. Although that may be due to him not having anything to look _forward_ to.

“Let’s see how you get on with the bike first.” Bucky finally says, deciding to end the argument on a reconciliatory mood. Trust aside, it would be very nice indeed to have the arm working properly again.

 

* * *

 

Tony thinks that, at his age, nothing would surprise him anymore. Well, he is by no means old yet but he has claimed the same when he was nine and had just won some award for a robot he had built, which he watched his father smash into pieces directly afterwards since it was a waste of time and resources.

The whole world could be broken down into equations. Since then, naturally, he has learned that human behaviour can barely be measured with maths. He had been surprised by his parents’ death and Obadiah’s betrayal, by several relationships going south because he believed in something that did not exist. But he has grown out of that, has left his life behind and moved far away from everything that hurts. What could surprise him now?

A stranger turning up on his doorstep with a broken bike, a metal arm, and a dozen unsolved issues certainly qualifies. Especially when he trails uncertainly after Tony when he goes for his tools, and asks, “Would you mind me camping in your yard?”

When Tony turns around to look at his unexpected guest, his face must be rather sceptical, because Bucky shakes his head apologetically. “I didn’t mean to impose. I’ll just –”

The sensible reaction would be to send him off to the one run-down motel in town and be done with it. Tony has dealt with too many crazy people to think that letting one sleep on his property is a good idea. Most of those people, of course, had more money than sense and have never even seen the inside of a tent, much less slept on anything other than sinfully expensive mattresses. Bucky, on the other hand, does not look like he has much choice as to where he gets to sleep.

Barely giving himself time to think about it, Tony shrugs and says, “I’ve got a room upstairs. Promise me you’re not a serial killer and it’s yours.” He foregoes his trademark smirk. Leaving the glamorous life behind, along with all its lies and pretence, Tony realized how very little he liked it, no matter how good he is at standing his ground there.

“You shouldn’t take strangers by their word,” Bucky smiles a bit, although the frown on his face is more prominent, “if I were a serial killer, I’d deny it all the more.”

Just like Obadiah had denied to the very end that he had anything but Tony’s best interests in mind. Shaking his head to get rid of the thought, he answers nonchalantly, “I’m sure I’m safe.” Then he adds, grinning widely, “To get as good looking as you are you’d probably have to regularly bath in virgins’ blood. And I can assure you I’m not a virgin.”

He half expects Bucky to stutter and blush, but to his unending excitement, he grins back without hesitation. Not as brightly as Tony perhaps, like his face is not used to the motion, but he is undeniably amused.

“No work for me tonight then,” Bucky jokes back.

Without missing a beat, Tony answers, “Leaves more time for fun.”

They look at each other and, for a moment, it feels like Tony has found a kindred spirit. Someone who can take his attitude and answer in kind, someone not easily offended by Tony’s almost pathological tendency to, superficially at least, never take anything serious, and throw sarcasm at it. Then, however, Bucky’s expression grows sober, causing Tony to inwardly scold himself.

He should have learned by now that he is too overwhelming.

“Anyway,” Bucky clumsily brings their line of conversation to an end, “you don’t need to let me into your home. I’ve got a tent with me and –”

“I’ve also got a very luxurious shower,” Tony cuts him off almost desperately, “and I think the fridge is not completely empty.”

The simple truth is, Tony is lonely. As much as he has grown disgusted with life in the city, among the rich and deceitful, moving to the country meant he left not only the bad things behind but the good ones as well. For years, he has successfully pretended that his workshop is all he needs, but he misses Pepper and grabbing burgers with Rhodey and watching New York’s skyline at night. He misses to have all of life at his fingertips.

So when Bucky opens his mouth to protest, Tony decides to assume things are settled and ignores him by turning around. He claps his hands like he is performing a magic trick, and the whole shop goes dark.

“Come on up,” he says cheerfully, glancing at Bucky at just the right moment to see his puzzlement. He loves showing off his toys, and no one expects anything resembling modern technology in a place like this. “I’ll get you settled, then I’ll work on your bike.”

“Tonight?” Bucky asks, too surprised to keep up the protest. Since Tony starts walking away, he has no chance but to follow, although he does so stumbling a little, using the light of the hallway as orientation and Tony’s shadow in front of it.

“I don’t sleep much.” Tony shrugs, nothing in his voice hinting at a reason. And to him there is nothing unusual to it. Before the nightmares, he had suffered from plain old insomnia. Although he cannot quite say how much of that is due to his tendency to ignore exhaustion and just keep working until a task is finished or he falls asleep at his desk.

When Bucky catches up with him, he shakes his head firmly. “But not on my account.”

That has him chuckling in quiet amusement. “You sound like my best friend,” Tony rolls his eyes, not bothering to hide his fondness, “she always nags me to sleep and eat and take care of myself.”

Not that Pepper has ever had much success with any of that, but she is persistent at least and not willing to indulge his slightly self-destructive tendencies in return for an expensive pair of shoes. Well, she takes the shoes anyway, but never stops the nagging. And he loves her for it.

“Sounds like my best friend too.” Bucky says, then snaps his mouth shut abruptly like he does not usually offer up private information. And Tony knows the feeling, but living away from the press and gossipmongers for this long has had him grow less cautious. As long as he does not shout his name from the rooftops, no one here cares or knows who he is and what he does with his life.

“All right,” Tony says once they have reached the top of the stairs, “first floor has your room and also the living room, kitchen and bathroom. I’m sleeping up in the attic.” He smiles when Bucky frowns. He knows the kind of attics the other man probably thinks of, but he has always liked sleeping without any more floors and, possibly, people above him. Puts him closer to the sky. “Ah, don’t look so surprised, it’s rather spacey.”

The house does not look like much from the outside. Which is exactly what Tony has been searching for when he packed his things and left New York. All his life, it was important to keep up facades to hide the insides, so it has long ago become second nature.

As far as secrets go, the living space is unremarkable. His kitchen is downright plain, except for the coffee machine and a small elevator hidden in a cupboard with which he can bring up his bots.

Even Tony’s bedroom seems quite the stepdown from what he was used to in his penthouse in New York. He still has a very expensive bed but his wardrobe consists of nothing but work clothes and a single suit – just in case, Pepper had advised, although he has not used it once in all his years here. Other than that, the room functions as a second working space.

“Just make yourself at home,” Tony says when Bucky stands somewhat awkwardly in front of the stairs, not yet daring to properly enter. “Towels are in the bathroom cabinet. You’ll find the fridge and,” having an idea to make the transition easier, Tony beckons Bucky forward, “I’ll help you with the coffee machine.”

“You don’t have to make me coffee,” Bucky protests, voice a bit hoarse.

But Tony waves him off, taking it as a good sign that he did not argue that it is too late for coffee. He would have had to overthink his invitation again in that case.

“You won’t say that once you’ve tasted it.” Tony’s coffee machine is, naturally, the best he could make it, and the beans themselves are sinfully expensive. But Dan the postman has stopped grumbling about the mass of packages he has to deliver after Tony served him a cup.

When Bucky still hesitates, Tony orders, “Sit down. I won’t let you leave before you’ve had a taste of real coffee anyway. Can’t let you go back out into the world uneducated.”

Wearing an indulgent expression, Bucky makes his way over to the kitchen table and slides carefully into one of the three chairs. It is the one closest to the exit, but Tony counts it as a win nonetheless. He hides his grin by turning towards the coffee machine and keeps up an absentminded monologue about the region, more intent on putting his guest at ease than on starting a conversation.

The coffee is ready too quickly – Tony must be very lonely indeed if he is sad to end his one-sided talk about sights and the best restaurants around – but a glance at Bucky tells Tony that he is rather tired, so he puts a steaming cup in front of him with a smile, before taking his own and turning to the door.

“I had better get back down,” he announces cheerfully but lingers there.

Tony does not worry about leaving Bucky alone in his home. Even if he did not have JARVIS to keep an eye on things, everything truly valuable is locked away in his basement lab. His secret lair, as Rhodey calls it. He barely spends any time upstairs. The whole reason for moving to the country was for him to get himself settled again after almost losing his company to one of the few people he trusted, to concentrate on creating and bringing his ideas to life. The averted hostile takeover had Stark Industries’ net worth plummeting and the simple truth is, if Pepper is worried, Tony is worried too. That does not change the fact that, sometimes, this feels too much like he was exiled, self-chosen fate or not.

Still, Tony hesitates to go back down to the shop. The sight of Bucky – someone other than Rhodey or Pepper – sitting at his kitchen table, drinking coffee out of his cup, does something strange to Tony. Inexplicably, he is filled with the longing to stay, to talk, to use this rare opportunity of company to the fullest. And Bucky had said that Tony should not work through the night, so maybe he truly is not in too much of a hurry.

The feeling vanishes as quickly as it has come. Tony is not unhappy here. Being the somewhat eccentric mechanic for a small town might not have been part of any of his plans ever, but life is good here, simple. The people like him, and Tony does not mind repairing the odd truck and TV as long as he still has enough time for his personal projects. And out here, where no one expects him to go to board meetings or charity events, the one thing he certainly does not lack is time.

When he waves at Bucky, ready to leave, the other man wears a somewhat struck expression, like he has noticed Tony’s hesitation and feels guilty for it. Tony expects him to protest his staying again, but what he finally says takes him by surprise.

“Have you had any dinner already?”

“Are you hungry?” Tony asks, feeling rather stupid. Of course Bucky does not want to be left on an empty stomach and might feel uncomfortable helping himself. “Take what you want, I mean it. You can order something too. I’m not too reliable when it comes to buying groceries.” Or about anything involving self-care.

Bucky takes in Tony’s barrage of information with a stoic face before shaking his head gently. “No, I mean, you don’t have to work on the bike tonight. But you definitely shouldn’t skip dinner for it.”

This leaves Tony nonplussed. He is used to Rhodey tricking him into eating, and Pepper regarding him with disappointment every time she interrogates JARVIS about his eating habits – all of his habits, really – but strangers usually do not care what he does. He is a mechanic; they bring him broken stuff and he repairs it. That is the entirety of their relationship. Well, he usually does not invite them into his home either, so maybe this is a special case he just has no experience with. Or Bucky himself is the special case.

“Erm, no,” Tony says unintelligibly, watching Bucky’s face fall, so he quickly amends, “I haven’t eaten anything yet. But are you sure you don’t want me to get to work?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be.” This again. Maybe it is true. But for Tony, who always had somewhere to be before coming here, it is a strange concept. People do not usually have complete freedom. “But if you want me out of the house.”

Tony stares at Bucky, both of them looking strangely apologetic and somewhat embarrassed. Not able to help himself, Tony bursts out laughing. They are being ridiculous.

“Okay,” he exclaims, walking back into the kitchen, “let’s stop this awkward dance of apologies. We’re not Canadian.” He stops, mustering his guest. “Or are you?”

Smiling, Bucky shakes his head. “Brooklyn born and bred.”

Of course, he should have placed the accent long before this. “Well, not ideal,” he smirks good-naturedly, “but I can work with that. Anyway, what do you say to pizza?”

As Bucky watches Tony sit down across from him, inhaling his coffee as quickly as he exhales his words, a smile is tugging at his lips, which probably means they are good.

“You have delivery out here?” he asks, slightly incredulous, and understandably so. He must have been driving for miles on end without seeing anything or anyone.

“I’m very charming,” Tony says, grinning, then explains, “and I repaired Senior Carlo’s oven a while back. So they make an exception for me. I would have starved a long time ago without that.”

Bucky looks just the right amount of dubious that Tony decides that they will have Carlo’s pizza and that Bucky will be impressed by it.

“All right,” he exclaims, taking out his phone, “what do you want on yours. And don’t say pineapple or you’ll have to sleep in your tent after all.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Bucky wakes to the smell of fresh coffee, which has him immediately alert. Tony had been absolutely right to praise his coffee and Bucky fears the four cups he had the night before have already turned him into an addict. At the same time, he is sure the promise of caffeine is the only thing that will get him out of the bed.

They have stayed up very late. The pizza – delivered by the owner’s son, who didn’t bother with ringing the doorbell and just came right into the kitchen – was delicious, and Tony’s company surprisingly pleasant. For hours they talked, never once falling into awkward silences despite them both skirting certain topics. He does not know what Tony is hiding but he is glad not to be pestered about his own secrets.

And as much as the mechanic kept glancing at the arm, Bucky never felt it was out of curiosity for what happened, but more due to technical interest. Judging on the expression he wore, his fingers must have been itching to touch it and take it apart. Which, normally, would have had Bucky running without a glance back, but throughout their conversation, Tony kept drifting off into technical rants which Bucky had no chance to understand but found fascinating nonetheless, since they made Tony’s eyes light up and whole body come alive with gestures.

It was with quite a bit of regret that Bucky had to excuse himself at one point, with his eyes falling close due to exhaustion. There is no sleeping in on the road, so his days are long.

Somehow managing to get to his feet, Bucky runs a hand through his hair and pulls on his clothes from the day before. Anything else has to wait until he had that coffee.  He stumbles more than walks to the kitchen, where Tony leans against the counter, looking equally dishevelled and tired.

Upon seeing him, Tony turns unprompted to the coffee machine to fill a second cup. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, smiling ruefully. “Sorry. I’m not used to being quiet.”

And he should not be, in his own home, but Bucky simply shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It was the coffee that did the job.”

“Works like magic every time,” Tony agrees and puts a cup down in front of the place Bucky has occupied the night before. All the while, he never stops clinging to his own.

“Thank you,” Bucky breathes happily, causing Tony to chuckle.

Since Tony looks like he is already halfway down the stairs and back to work, and Bucky would very much like to spend some more time with him, he opens his mouth and says the first thing that comes to mind.

“Do you want to take a look at the arm now?” He surprises himself so much with his own words that he winces. Which Tony, thankfully, does not seem to notice over his shocked delight.

“Are you serious?” he asks, wide-eyed and very still. “Even before I’ve had a look at your bike?” Then he notices what he is doing and visibly reins in his doubt. “I mean, yes,” he nods his head like there is nothing unusual about the offer, “Yes, of course. Don’t let me talk you out of it again, because I very much want to get my hands on you.” Grimacing, he corrects himself, “On your arm.”

Not able to help himself, Bucky bursts out laughing, despite the churning inside his stomach. He does not like anyone touching the arm, not even the engineers at SI who he was sure knew what they were doing. But Tony’s excitement is so palpable, his smile so blindingly real, that Bucky feels reluctant to draw back his offer.

_What could happen?_ a voice asks in the back of his head, which has some hysteria entering his laughter. So much could happen, up to him ending up with no arm again instead of a slightly malfunctioning one. It could turn into dead weight, forcing him to take it off, leaving him with a raw stump just calling to get infected.

His breathing gets quick and shallow to the point where he does not get enough oxygen into his system. The wave of dizziness hits him unprepared, causing his vision to go dark as he feels himself falling, a horde of invisible people clawing at him. His skin prickles with the memory of cuts and freely flowing blood.

The next thing he notices is a hand on his arm, his flesh and blood one, pushing him further into the panicked spiral of his thoughts. The sudden contact has him flinching back and raising his hands to defend himself against any attacks. It feels like he is already being torn apart.

“Bucky,” someone calls from very far away, and Bucky’s breathing evens a little when the hand is gone. “Calm down. You’re not in danger. I’m Tony, remember? I’m a mechanic and I’m looking after your bike. No one is touching you. No one is going to take your arm.”

It is more the calm of the voice than the words itself that have Bucky returning to the present, out of breath and with swimming vision. He is safe, the voice – Tony – repeats over and over again, until he begins to believe it.

When he comes back to himself, he is on the ground, whole body curled around his metal arm like it is fragile and not something he could rip apart anything in his way with. Tony crouches several feet away from him, face worried but still exuding the same calm his voice had held. He does not come closer once he notices the panic is fading, does not ask any questions. All he does is wait, allowing Bucky to take all the time he needs.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his tongue feeling too heavy to move. He feels blood rushing back into his head as the trembling subsides.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

It sounds so simple when Tony says it and, strangely enough, Bucky finds himself believing him. It should be embarrassing, losing control like that, but Tony is so nonchalant about it, like nothing out of the ordinary is happening, and at the same time knowing exactly what to do.

“In fact,” Tony continues, still not moving from his place as if standing up alone could spook Bucky again. “I’m the one who should apologize. I touched you without permission or warning.”

That is true but still no guarantee that Bucky would not have fallen into full-blown panic without it. He does not want Tony to shoulder the blame for this alone, since Bucky is the one who is damaged here, so he says, “Touch sometimes helps.”

An expression flitters over Tony’s face that is gone too quick for Bucky to decipher, when he argues, “But not very often.”

Just that is the problem, that the very thing that could ground him in reality is also pushing him far quicker over the edge, because the panic comes from inside and the outside world just overwhelms the system, having no room next to the blinding fear filling every fibre of his being already.

Slowly, Bucky gets to his feet and uses the movement to pick up the chair, which he must have brought down with him. Tony keeps watching him for a moment longer before he too stands up. He still makes no sudden motions.

“How did you know what to do?” Bucky asks, once he feels steady on his feet again.

He does not really want to talk about it but wants them to fall into a heavy silence even less. Once people keep their words away from each other, everything is lost. He feels the same is happening with Steve, whom he once told everything but can now barely look into the eyes. Tony might not be his best friend, or any sort of friend at all, but just a man he had met the day before, but something about him feels safe, beckoning Bucky closer.

“My best friend is in the Air Force,” Tony answers promptly, although there is something evasive about how he avoids looking at Bucky and keeps his hands out of sight.

Bucky does not pry. He knows that look, knows when to back off. “Thank you,” he says instead and leans back in the chair, distributing his weight so he does not have to hold himself upright.

“You shouldn’t thank me when I’m the one who triggered it,” Tony mutters ruefully. He is still standing quite a distance away from Bucky, as if he is not sure what to do with himself. But before Bucky can answer and possibly reassure him, he continues speaking. “Anyway, I’m sorry for asking about the arm. I promise I won’t touch it. I’ll try to tone down the staring too.”

Bucky looks at Tony in wonder. Not even Steve manages to be this efficient and factual about his panic attacks, and that despite suffering from them himself at times.

“Your friend is lucky to have you,” he remarks quietly. Just when Tony seems about to protest, Bucky shakes his head. “Also, I’m good with you having a look at the arm now.”

“What?” Obviously taken by surprise, Tony stares at him, eyes staying clear of the glinting metal, despite it being the topic of conversation again. “I mean,” he adds, sounding just short of panicking himself, “I don’t want to be indelicate here, but just thinking about it sent you into a panic attack right now.”

“I had an argument with myself,” Bucky tries to explain, then shrugs. He never finds the right words for these things. “I’m prepared now.”

“You look anything but prepared,” Tony points out sceptically and he is certainly right about it.

Bucky feels the sweat on his forehead and his back, leaving him slightly cold, although that might just be remnants of the psychological effects. He is a mess, he knows that, and Tony knows now too, and he is still here, looking at Bucky in concern and willing to do whatever it takes to make him feel better.

“I thought you wanted to see it.” Bucky hears how he starts to sound annoyed and regrets it immediately when Tony backs even farther away from him. “It’s just,” he tries to salvage the situation, “I didn’t like the official maintenance appointments either.”

“And I’m a complete stranger.” Tony nods in understanding, sounding pensive. Then a grin splits his face. “I’ve got an idea.”

Without another word, he turns around and all but runs out of the room, leaving Bucky behind in a daze. He does not have to wait long, however, before Tony comes back with a tablet in hand, tapping away on it with practiced speed. Once he is back at the kitchen table, he hums in satisfaction and turns the tablet around so that Bucky can see better.

The screen displays the schematics of his arm. Or what he supposes has to be his arm. It is full of technical terms, of wires and tubes and equations, layers upon layers of it. Bucky does not comprehend even half of it, but Tony obviously does not have the same problem, because he starts talking almost immediately.

“You’re looking at the insides of your arm. If you’re all right with it, I’m going to explain step by step what I would do.” Biting his lower lip for a moment, Tony looks at him searchingly. “Then you can decide whether you want me to do it or not. No hard feelings.”

He looks delighted at the prospect, drumming his fingers in what Bucky does not feel is impatience as much as an overabundance of energy.

To buy himself some time, Bucky points at the tablet. “How come you have a copy of the schematics? Aren’t there laws against that?”

Something darkens in Tony’s eyes, but he shrugs carelessly. “As I said, I worked on these, and I couldn’t leave them behind when I left. I’m not going to sell them, so what harm can it do?”

Stark Industries’ lawyers would surely have a lot to say about this, but Tony does not seem worried. And, looking at the way he lives, working in a small-time repair shop instead of another futuristic multi-billion-dollar company, he seems to truly mean no harm.

Tony keeps looking at him, trying not to pressure him, surely, but appearing so excited at the same time that Bucky does not have it in him to refuse. Also, he is rather interested in getting a closer look at those schematics, and therefore a better understanding of that metal contraption he is calling his arm these days.

“All right,” he says, causing Tony to smile so widely that it would not have surprised him had he danced a little jig too, shouting _hurrah_ to the heavens.

“Okay,” voice all business-like, Tony puts the tablet between them, diving right in, “look here.”

 

* * *

 

In the end there is no real question whether he is going to have Tony look at the arm. He clearly knows his way around the tech and speaks like he has not just worked on it but knows every little detail and loves it too. That does not alleviate all of Bucky’s fears, but he is sure that he will come out of it with an intact arm at least.

While Tony vanishes downstairs to get his tools, Bucky tries to find a comfortable position in the kitchen. Tony had offered that he could lie down but the prospect of not seeing what Tony will do did not sit right with Bucky, so they opted for the kitchen table. It might be an unconventional choice but neither of them wants to go down into the shop where anyone could barge in on them.

“Got it,” Tony exclaims happily once he is back and sets the box down, revealing a multitude of tools of all forms and sizes. Bucky would not know where to begin, but Tony’s hands flitter over them with practiced ease. But then he stops again. “You sure?”

Normally, too much concern does nothing but irritate Bucky. Steve sometimes treats him as though he is going to break any minute. But Tony asks in a way that is removed from all personal factors, more like he offers a second cup of coffee, not like he is worried that Bucky will not be able to stand the procedure.

“Don’t keep me waiting.” He rolls his eyes and puts the arm between them, not giving himself the chance to back out again.

With a face like a child being told Christmas has come early, Tony chooses a tool and loses no more time.

“Do you want me to talk while I work?” he asks, gently opening the outer casing. He moves slowly, giving Bucky time to relax every other minute.

“You explained everything already.” Bucky does not want to annoy Tony. Also, he is not sure he wants to hear this much while it is actually happening to him.

“I can tell you about the human disaster that is Fred Rowle, living one village down, who brings his car at least once a month, and somehow does not manage to get himself killed although there is not an inch of the poor car that doesn’t have a scratch or dent.”

Tony pulls a wire loose, causing Bucky to tense, but he does not even feel a twinge. He does not dare to ask about it in case the pain is coming soon.

“Or I could tell you about the damn neighbour’s cat who thinks my workshop is a giant pet bed and leaves her hair everywhere.”

Tony keeps talking and does not expect an answer from Bucky who first watches every move the mechanic makes but gradually relaxes into the procedure. It does not hurt, it does not explode into their faces. At regular intervals, Tony asks Bucky to move the arm or his fingers, or tests his sensibility. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

That is, until Tony hisses and mutters something under his breath before he looks up at Bucky, almost offended.

“What did you do to this poor beauty?” he asks, full of indignation, as if he thinks Bucky went out of his way to damage his second chance at having two functional arms.

Well, truth be told, he _has_ been somewhat neglectful. Keeping his eyes fixed on the arm instead of Tony, he says, “Hit a couple things.” He cannot help the upward lilt to the words, turning them almost into a question.

Tony scoffs, not quite in disbelief but definitely sceptical. “This was designed to be able to take a lot of hits without breaking.”

This is not exactly what they had told him when they first fitted him for the arm, but he guesses caution is always the better choice with not-quite-completed tech, lest the people screw up the research data by using it all wrong.

“Well, I’ve hit things for years,” Bucky amends, then adds, “and the program ran out a while back, so there was no more maintenance.” He cannot hide his bitterness at this fact, since it means his time with two arms was limited from the beginning. “Couldn’t afford it,” Bucky says with quite a bit of defiance. He is not ashamed of his lacking wealth but he will take no bullshit for it either.

Tony, in turn, looks upset, brown eyes bearing into Bucky with strange intensity. “What do you mean the program ran out?” he asks, the arm lying almost forgotten between them.

Shrugging, Bucky says, “They ended it.” Who is he to know the reasons?

“It wasn’t supposed to end.”

Bucky shoots Tony a look that clearly says he knew that all along. Lifelong maintenance for veterans, that was the deal for them playing guinea pig for the scientists at SI. _Lifelong_ apparently meaning until they had enough data to put their prostheses on the market to make a profit with them.

Something in Tony’s voice is off. Anger mixes with incredulity, almost like he takes this personal. And maybe he does, if he is one of those people who believe in good things lasting instead of the harsh truth that there is no such thing as goodness. Everything has a price.

For a moment, Tony looks at his phone as if he is going to jump up and forget all about Bucky’s arm. But then he visibly calms down, smiles at Bucky, and gets back to work, continuing just as gently, and that is the last they speak of this.

When he is done, Tony closes the casing with utmost care and looks up expectantly. “Move it,” he orders grandly, certain that he already knows the result.

And Bucky does as instructed. Slowly, at the beginning, waiting for the old pain or new problems, but no matter which direction he moves or how quickly, whether he picks something up, the arm runs smoother than ever, even sounding less strained than before.

“You are a wizard,” he exclaims suddenly, not quite able to believe his luck. How high are the chances of his bike dying right in the vicinity of a mechanic able to fix his arm? They have not spoken about Tony’s compensation yet, but the other man must know by now that Bucky does not have much in terms of money, and still he would give most, if not all of what he has, just for this exhilarating feeling of moving without pain. Also, he does not want to dampen his good mood with talks about money.

Tony, in turn, grimaces. “Magic, ew. Leave me alone with that.” He cocks his head to the side, adding almost as an afterthought, “But I _am_ a certified genius.”

Laughing, Bucky accepts that without question. Who is he to argue, anyway, when he has just had the privilege of being cured by not-a-wizard Tony?

Impulsively, he asks “May I cook for you tonight?” He wants to give something back to Tony, something that has more meaning than words. It would also allow him to test the finer mechanics of the arm.

The question has Tony freezing in surprise, interrupting his motion of sorting his tools to put them neatly back in place.

“You can cook?” he asks incredulously, then waves his own words away. “Wait, scratch that. Gorgeous, metal arm, free spirit, of course you have to continue being perfect.” He says all that without a hint of joking in his voice, wearing a somewhat flirtatious smile that Bucky cannot help but return.

“I don’t think anyone has ever called me that,” he protests mildly, despite being rather pleased by the compliments. It has been an eternity since someone looked at him with something other than worry or pity, much less someone who is so very good-looking himself.

“Everybody’s blind then,” Tony remarks offhandedly, before returning to the topic at hand. “But yes, you may definitely cook for me. I haven’t had anything home-cooked since Mama Rhodey’s last care package.”

Bucky does not know who Rhodey is, much less his mother, but Tony does seem like the kind who needs someone to take care of him. The whole kitchen has the air of being utterly neglected. Like most of the upstairs rooms, truly. It seems that he prefers to live in his workshop. No life like a busy life.

“Any wishes?” he asks, then amends his question, “or, well, what have you got in your fridge?”

Tony blinks, then smiles sheepishly. “I might have to send you to the store, because I’m sure I’m all out of everything but coffee.”

Of course. Bucky is not sure why he has expected anything else, and that is despite him knowing Tony only for half a day at the most. Before he can answer anything, however, Tony scrambles to his feet and vanishes briefly into the hallway before he comes back with a credit card in hand, which he thrusts at Bucky entirely without ceremony. Who catches it only out of reflex.

“It’s just down the road, you can’t miss it,” Tony explains, fishing a car key out of his pocket and adds it to his offering. “Tell them I’ve sent you. If they don’t believe you, ask whether they’ve finally ordered some coffee that isn’t utter shit.”

Bucky stares first at the gleaming plastic card Tony is still waving under his nose, then at Tony himself who acts like it is nothing out of the ordinary to hand over his credit card to perfect strangers. When Bucky takes too long to say anything or just take the card, Tony’s expression falls, although he quickly masks it with nonchalance.

“You don’t have to, of course,” he says, sounding embarrassed, even while making no move to take his things back. “We can just order in again. Rosie makes the best burgers.”

Before Tony can talk himself out of getting something nice for once, Bucky puts on a grin and snatches up the credit card. He does not know what it means, but he hates that he has put that expression on Tony’s face, caught between resignation and fake nonchalance.

“Maybe I’m not a serial killer but a thief,” he jokes, making no more mention of his reluctance. “I’m just used to working a bit harder for my money.”

In response, Tony sags almost unnoticeably, before grinning right back. “What can I say, I’m very easy. And I’ve got a weakness for bad boys.”

“Then we’re both in the right place, yes?”

Bucky remembers the times before the war, when he could charm people easily with just a few words and a smile. Somewhere along the way he has lost that too, no matter how often Steve and Clint try to coax it out of him. But with Tony it is easy to fall back into the game, just like all the ugly things in between have never happened and he is out, just looking for a good time and having no difficulties believing that he will get it.

But all the bad things _have_ happened, so he sobers quickly and returns to the question of food.

“Have you got any allergies?” he asks, all professional. “Anything you don’t like?”

For a moment, Tony looks at him funny, like he has noticed that, one moment Bucky was completely up for flirting before remembering himself, and does not understand it, but also decides not to make a thing out of it.

“You’re making it sound like you’re going to cook a five-course meal,” he answers good-naturedly, rolling his eyes.

“Maybe not five courses,” Bucky answers sheepishly, afraid he might have promised too much here. Pushing Tony’s expectations cannot end in anything but disappointment. Because Bucky can cook, yes, but he is no gourmet, has never had any other training than helping his mother in the kitchen and trying to keep their group of friends from starving.  “But there will be something green, just to give you a fair warning?”

“Healthy stuff?” Tony grimaces, clutching his chest dramatically. “Well, I guess I’ll survive it for once.”

 

* * *

 

After their morning endeavours, it is already past noon when Tony finally makes his way down to the shop. He watches Bucky drive off to the grocery store, feeling rather strange about the whole thing. What are the odds of someone stranding right on his doorstep who is this – Tony shies away from using the word _perfect_.

He has been told numerous times that his people skills are atrocious. Not only the parts where he has to behave properly, but also where he should see whether someone else is good for him or not. So, him liking Bucky on the spot does not necessarily mean anything. Then again, it is hard to meet anyone who does not take offence to just about everything Tony does. The sarcasm, the flirting, the frequent rants entirely in technical terms that go right over normal people’s heads. Since coming here, he thinks he has become a better person, if only because the point of anonymity is to not get recognized and so he had to stop being who he pretended to be for so many years. But with Bucky, he has the feeling that he does not need to pretend.

Which is a stupid thing to think. Just because someone flirts back at him and has a metal arm – putting him into an entirely different league than other people – does not mean he will show any interest in Tony beyond getting his bike fixed.

Then again, he did not protest – too much – against taking Tony’s guestroom, and then there is the offer to cook dinner for them. For all he knows, the bike could be up and running again by that time, and still both of them just assumed that Bucky would still be here. And Tony does not mind. On the contrary, really.

Shaking his head, Tony tears his eyes away from the street – where Bucky is long out of sight – and turns to the bike. Which is a beauty in itself.

The necessary repairs do not require all of Tony’s concentration but it calms his mind to have his hands follow movements he knows by heart, allowing his subconscious to work on possible problems to cut down the time he will need to fix them should they actually occur. Tony’s brain has always been over-active. Not being able to stop thinking, and doing it so quickly that he can barely follow it himself sometimes – not emotionally or to express himself properly – turns him into something of an eccentric, he is sure, but for his line of work it is nearly perfect. There are always ideas growing in the back of his mind, evolving into plans he has to build and rebuild constantly.

Moving away from New York, from Stark Industries and all it entails, has done him a world of good. Miming a small time mechanic brings the advantage of him actually having to keep up the pretence of it, meaning he has to be present in the shop, has to talk to the people bringing him their broken stuff, even if it is nothing more than an ancient microwave.

At first, he thought he would not manage this for more than a couple of months, that he could not bear to be kept from his actual work by such mundane things. But he has found that the contrary is true. Life here is much slower than in the city, even while knowing exactly where it is going. For once, Tony feels comfortable in his skin and mind, slight loneliness aside.

When Bucky comes back, he is laden with shopping bags and more goods than Tony’s kitchen has likely ever seen. It is an intimidating sight, since Tony has never been able to muster the patience for cooking. He used to help Jarvis in the kitchen, and even remembers making pasta with his mother on several, precious occasions, but he can count the number of meals he has made from scratch since moving out of the mansion on both hands. Cooking is nothing else but math given a form. But that can be said of everything, truly, and he lacks the creativity to turn a recipe into something more.

Which is why he registers Bucky’s smile with quite a bit of surprise.

“Need a hand?” Tony asks, just to be polite. Even if Bucky would accept his help, he would likely throw him out again only minutes later, since Tony tends to get distracted and ruin things.

Thankfully, Bucky only waves cheerfully with his prosthesis. “Got one right here that works perfectly again.” As little a thing as repairing the arm was for Tony, it has put Bucky in a much improved mood. “So you can just keep working.”

Impulsively, Tony calls, “I might not get done with the bike today.” Which is a lie. He has everything he needs and he works fast. Bucky could be back on the road before nightfall to get a good bit of distance between himself and this little piece of nowhere. But Tony is reluctant enough to watch him go that he resorts to outright deception.

Bucky, however, does not seem disappointed at all. Instead, Tony even thinks he can see his smile widening a bit. “Take your time,” he says, “I’ll be up in the kitchen if you need me.”

And what does that mean, exactly?

For the second time this day, Tony finds himself staring after Bucky, left slightly confused. Normally, it is quite simple for him to see what people want, especially back when he was still bearing his family name like it means something special. But he cannot figure out Bucky, or what he is looking for. It is as disconcerting as it is exciting.

Shaking his head at himself, Tony turns back to the bike, regarding it for a long moment before he decides to take Bucky by his word and leave it alone for now. He has made good progress already, enough to finish the work quickly if Bucky changes his mind. Until that happens, however, he can take a look at one of his personal projects.

Tony is stupidly excited when Bucky calls him up, hours later. He tells himself not to expect too much, but he cannot help how he is. So he goes upstairs, washes his hands, and sits down at the table with a wide grin that does not go away even when Bucky hushes him, looking slightly embarrassed.

And he has not expected too much. On the contrary.

Dinner is _delicious_. Tony has eaten countless meals made by world-famous cooks, has dined in the best restaurants, but Bucky’s food tops them all. It might not be the most refined, nothing innovative or made of cleverly combined ingredients, but it is a meal cooked just for him, in his home, by a man who owes him nothing. A man who keeps smiling tentatively every time Tony takes a bite, almost forgetting to eat himself just to gauge his host’s reaction.

“I’ll hire you on the spot,” Tony declares happily, taking a short break from eating to beam at Bucky, who almost looks like he is blushing. “There’s no way I can ever eat anything else again.”

Take-out and coffee are nothing he can live off forever, no matter how hard he tries. It had certainly been easier in New York, with all kinds of delivery services available to him, and Pepper regularly pestering him to not forget about eating. Out here, where he has no one to eat with but his bots – who are not the best company, since they usually try to spice up his food by adding several indigestible things – he just keeps forgetting it. Someone has surely written a work about how healthy a pure coffee diet is anyway.

But now that he has tasted this, made in his meagre kitchen of all places without any fancy appliances – how can he ever go back?

Bucky, in turn, looks at him sheepishly, clearly uncomfortable with being praised so freely. “It’s nothing.” There is obviously something wrong with his taste buds.

“This is amazing,” Tony counters, slowly enunciating each word, before going back to grinning. “Honestly, what do you say? You can become my personal chef.”

For a moment, Tony imagines it, having someone to come home to. Biting the inside of his cheek, he keeps himself rooted in the present.

“Well,” Bucky smiles, although there is something uncertain in his eyes, “you do have a lot of spices now that you should use at some point.”

Looking at his cupboards, Tony is sure they are fuller than they ever were. Pepper will have a heart attack if she ever sees it. That is, if she decides to come visit him again before all of it has gone bad, forcing Tony to throw it out. Because he has no illusions that he will actually use all – or any – of it himself.

“Deal,” he calls, turning his attention back on Bucky, who looks a delicate mixture of surprised and pleased.

But when he answers, it is in a dry, unimpressed tone, “For now you’re the only one getting something out of it.”

But Tony always has an answer to everything. “Because of unforeseen circumstances, repairing your bike will unfortunately take a bit longer.” He grins, then points at Bucky’s side. “But I’ll add maintenance on your arm into the mix.”

Face growing soft, Bucky glances down at his metal hand, giving him no problems at all. “I’m all out of choices then,” he says, toasting Tony with his water glass. He had proposed a wine for dinner, but Tony does not have a drop of alcohol in his home. Another thing he has left behind in New York, although this one was far more difficult than forgetting all about charity galas and board meetings.

“Life can be hard sometimes,” Tony shoots back, clinking their glasses together. “I get it. But we’ll muddle through somehow.”

It is the easiest thing in the world to laugh together, as if they have done so for years instead of mere hours. But Tony cannot help but take their joking just the tiniest bit serious. Already their time is running out. The arm is functional, the bike is almost ready. Soon Bucky will leave and Tony will get left behind again. Although he should not think of it this way because he is out here by choice and Bucky has his own life. He should be glad they touched at all, however briefly. Because Bucky is brilliant, full of dry humour and the sobering knowledge that the world does not shape itself after their wishes. He returns Tony’s antics without a thought, not offended or embarrassed, and seems to enjoy himself all the while.

Despite Bucky’s bright presence, Tony can already feel the loneliness pushing back in.


	3. Chapter 3

They are just done with dessert – cupcakes filled with liquid chocolate – patting their full stomachs and unwilling to ever move again, when Bucky’s phone rings loudly, mercilessly ripping their comfortable silence apart.

It is a reminder that reality is still a thing outside of these walls, where he has found someone to share his time with without having to put so much effort into every word and gesture.

But, naturally, time does not stop, no matter that he sometimes wishes it would, if only so he could have the chance to find back to himself again without wasting so much of his life.

Looking at the kitchen counter, where he has left his phone, Bucky groans, not wanting to get up and work through the same old interrogation. Because who else could it be but Steve, full of worry and the righteous believe that he deserves an answer to all his questions since they have always shared everything.

The ringing does not stop, but he also does not move, causing Tony to look at him in something like concern, although the bearable kind, borne from uncertainty instead of knowing what is wrong.

“Everything all right?” Tony asks, keeping his tone light to make it clear that he will back off if he is overstepping. “Old bones hurting too much to get up?”

Sighing, Bucky shakes his head. “Just don’t want to talk,” he says, even while he gets slowly to his feet, cursing himself for taking another helping even after he was definitely already full. A full stomach slows his mind, and it has become important to take care with what he says when talking to Steve.

“Then why do you go?” Tony naturally wonders. Normal people would just keep it ringing, maybe send out a text or just ignore it altogether. But normal people do not have Steve waiting for them at home.

“Because Steve is insistent.” Bucky shrugs. There are a thousand words to describe Steve and none will come even close to the reality of him. It is almost like he has invented stubbornness. “He’ll keep calling until I pick up or until he loses patience and sends out a search commando.”

Or, in other terms, Natasha. Who can find out anything about anybody, never explaining _how_ she does it. They know better, of course, than to ask.

“Steve?” Tony questions, showing no irritation at the continued ringing. His whole behaviour has become gentler, somehow, and a bit withdrawn. Like he, too, has felt reality knocking, demanding to be let back in.

“Best friend,” Bucky explains shortly. Because no matter his current difficulties, Steve is and always will be his almost-brother with whom he has made all his plans with, even if quite a number of them did not come true. “And something of a mother hen. He worries too much.”

Grinning, Tony gestures at himself and the kitchen around them. “Considering you got stranded in the middle of nowhere and planned to _camp_ in my yard, I’d wager he worries just enough.”

Well, Bucky has never pretended that Steve worries without reason. Just that it is unbearable at times. Grimacing, he finally goes to his phone and, with an apologetic glance at Tony, accepts the call without giving himself any more time to back out.

“I’m all right,” he says by way of greeting, then gestures at the door to let Tony know he will step outside so he will not disturb the mechanic, but Tony shakes his head and points at the table. Shrugging, Bucky accepts the offer. Maybe he can cut the call short if he can believably claim that they have an audience. Although that will raise several more questions that Bucky is not yet ready to answer.

They talk quickly and quietly. _Where are you?_ and _Have you eaten?_ and, most importantly, _When are you coming home_? Somewhere, yes, and possibly never. Although he does not say the last one. Only _I don’t know_ , always the same answer to Steve’s glaring disappointment.

In return, Steve tells him about the crew at home. About Peggy and Nat dragging them all to see the ballet. About Clint’s mangy dog thankfully not getting the neighbour dog pregnant. About how much Sam’s group helps them all cope – and has he thought again about joining? About how lonely it is without Bucky, even with everyone else there.

Steve sounds tired but at the same time like home. They have all changed, although Bucky thinks what he will never get used to is that it is now Steve trying to take care of him, instead of the other way around. As children, when Steve was scrawny and always sick, Bucky was his safe haven, throwing himself alongside him into every fight, but dragging them out when it became clear they could not win. Bucky had always been able to make that call. Only now he cannot make sense of his own life anymore; of where to go, how to feel, how to begin healing. Leaving all of that to someone else, even if it is his best friend, is a step he has still not managed to get himself to take.

When Steve finally lets Bucky go, he feels tired, weighed down by old wounds opened anew and his old life pressing down on his shoulders. He puts down the phone but does not look up yet, not quite ready to meet Tony’s gaze. Hiding has become his default reaction for all difficult situations. It is not healthy but it makes things easier, at least for the moment. He is not sure how he will dig himself up out of this. If he ever decides to do it at all, that is.

Finally, he returns to the present, deciding it is not fair to Tony to keep sitting at the table while remaining utterly unresponsive. True enough, Tony is watching him when he looks up, face unreadable but somehow soft.

“So I gather you ran away from home then,” he says offhandedly, no judgement in his tone; it is not even a real question.

Still, it hits a little bit too close to home. Irritated, Bucky glares at Tony who raises his hands in surrender. “What does it matter to you?” he growls, regretting it immediately but still not backing down.

Tony, on the other hand, shows himself unimpressed by Bucky’s changed mood. As if they have never stopped joking and telling stories, he shrugs. “My best friends call each Wednesday and Sunday night respectively. It’s always the same questions although they pretend they’re not looking in on me by mixing up the routine at times.” He smiles fondly, exactly like Bucky wishes he could react when Steve calls. “I let them think I believe it.”

This has Bucky confused. Sure, Tony does not quite seem the type to willingly choose a place like this to live. Also there are no pictures of family or friends that he has seen anywhere in the house. It feels a bit lonely, although Tony does not give off the vibe of someone dissatisfied with his life.

He had said he comes from New York, which leaves moving here not quite the natural choice and therefore speaks of problems. Maybe Tony would understand him better than he thinks.

“You seem to have your life in order.” Bucky cannot help but say. He might have known Tony only for a day, but at all times he seemed comfortable in his own skin. Quite different from Bucky himself.

At that, Tony laughs heartily. “Don’t let them hear you say that. I left New York in quite a hurry, not knowing where to go or what to do with myself.” He shakes his head, the movement full of fondness, although likely not for himself, since he then grimaces. “But I was a human disaster before that too.”

Bucky does not like the tone that Tony uses when he talks about himself. It is condescending almost, full of something in stark contrast to the confidence he carries himself with. It is not a real question which of the two is the act.

“And they let you go?” Bucky did not tell anyone that he was leaving. He is sure Natasha knew and Steve suspected anyway, but they did not stop him. That is what matters, he supposes, even though they are less than subtle about wanting him to come back.

“Well, Pepper wanted me to take a break.” Tony chuckles quietly, looking like he is more used to giving his friends grief than Bucky is. “But she probably thought more along the lines of taking a trip to the beach, not moving away altogether. And Rhodey is cursing me regularly because I insist he comes visit every time he is home and he needs to make quite the detour now.”

He misses them, that shows clearly in his tone and face. Still, he has not returned home.

“They sound like they care a lot,” Bucky says, wishing he could already be this accepting of his friends’ constant nagging, wishing he could stop running.

Tony looks at him like that is an odd thing to say before smiling honestly. “Don’t know how I deserve them but they do.”

“My friends shouted a lot when they discovered me gone.” Bucky gives the information like a peace offering.

And Tony accepts it with complete understanding. “Well, they’ll shout a lot when you come back too. That is what family is like.”

 

* * *

 

Two days is as long as Tony can feasibly draw out his repairs on the bike. Any more and Bucky would have noticed for certain that he is pushing for time and what explanation could he give for that?

“So,” Tony starts rather reluctantly when Bucky brings him a cup of coffee down to the shop, and feels very foolish for it, “I’m done with the bike. She should run smoothly again.”

There is no _should_ about it, of course, because Tony knows what he is doing, and he has built more complicated things from scratch. But overflowing self-confidence is never well-received, and he still cares about what Bucky thinks of him.

“Does she?” Bucky looks elated for a moment, before his expression dims a little. Not enough for Tony to gauge the reason. Maybe he is thinking about the lack of nice showers on the road.

“Yes,” Tony says, and it is _hard_ to keep up the smile, “nothing keeping you from the road anymore.”

Which seems to have been the wrong thing to say, because Bucky leans back in his seat like he needs to bring more distance between Tony and himself. His coffee stands forgotten in front of him.

They look at each other for a long moment, which probably is not much more than a few seconds, but Tony has never been good with silences so he feels them more keenly than other people.

Then a look of determination settles on Bucky’s face as he asks, in an almost detached tone, “What do I owe you?”

Tony cannot stop staring until the words register in his mind, and even then it is hard to let go.

“What?” he asks stupidly, even while resignation rises inside him. That is that, then. Once one starts to talk about money, things stop growing but just become smaller and smaller until there is nothing left. “Oh, nothing.”

At once, Bucky’s face turns dark as he frowns unhappily. “I don’t do charity.”

“Charity?” Tony laughs, putting more cheer into the sound than he feels. Things have started to go wrong just now and he just does not know why, nor how to salvage them. “Believe me, I’m not the charity type.” If Bucky knew his name, there would be no question about it. “But you cooked me the best meal I had in ages and let me play around with your arm. If anything, I should pay you.”

Despite his attempts at joking, Bucky does not budge or smile, does not feel comfortable anymore. “I mean to pay you for fixing the arm too,” he then says, making things worse.

“So I guess mentioning the arm was the wrong thing to do,” Tony mutters to himself, before looking intently at Bucky, hoping he can somehow convey what he is thinking without having to put it into words. He has never been good with words either. “But I mean it. You don’t owe me anything. It was nice having someone over for a change. And to tinker with something more than the usual run-of-the-mill tech was like going on a vacation.”

“I can’t –” Bucky starts to protest, but there is something in his eyes now that makes Tony believe that, if they cannot salvage it, they can at least part as something like friends.

“But you can. Believe me, I’m not going to starve.” Even if he intended to try, JARVIS has long since become a co-conspirator with his friends, making it almost impossible for Tony to be his usual irresponsible self. “Well, I might. Since you’ve reminded me what real food is and will now leave me to my fate again.”

Tony means it as a joke, but Bucky remains serious, staring at him intently in a way that makes it obvious he is debating with himself. Curious as to what this is about, Tony gives him as much time as he needs. Also, every minute they keep talking is a minute he does not have to spend alone. It is such a pathetic thought, it sends a shiver down his back. What some years of near-isolation can do to a man. Especially one who has been called a futurist. The present should not actually bother him much. Then again, he has never much cared for rules.

“Do you need help here?” Bucky asks all of a sudden, sounding uncertain of all things. Enough so, that Tony takes a while to understand the meaning of the words at all. And when he does, they almost leave him gaping. Tony misses his chance to say something because of that, causing Bucky to babble on. “I’ve got no official training but I used to repair stuff with my dad.”

He is prepared to say more, his hands raised in front of him, but Tony interrupts him, incredulously.

“Are you asking to stay?”

Bucky ducks his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, sounding like he is cursing himself, “it’s stupid.”

“No,” Tony exclaims quickly, unwilling to watch Bucky withdraw. “It’s just rather sudden. What happened to your road trip?” he then adds, wondering whether it sounds like a refusal or just the confusion it really is.

A smile tugs at Bucky’s lips that ends up rather lop-sided but is nonetheless very real. “I can drive into the village and back each day, that should do the trick. Maybe to the next town over, if I’m feeling adventurous.” He _jokes_ , Tony thinks but does not dare to hope that the crisis is averted. “But, really, forget what I said.”

“Too late,” Tony’s tone lightens automatically, “my brain doesn’t do forgetting.”

“Your brain is a crazy place then.” Bucky’s smile grows, but is definitely not past protesting yet.

Tony wonders how it happened that he has now been pushed into the position of convincing Bucky when he had asked in the first place.

“You have no idea,” he says, cocking his head to the side.

It is rather spur-of-the-moment but Tony comes to a decision. He has done a lot of crazy things, and most of them must have been more dangerous than letting a handsome stranger into his home. Also, Bucky does not feel like a stranger anymore, more like a friend-waiting-to-happen.

“All right. I’m not getting much use out of the guest room anyway. And it’ll be nice to share some of the boring work with you.”

It also raises a lot of organizational problems. Tony is not only here to waste his time repairing the village folks’ stuff. He has a company to work for, international projects to oversee, inventions to make to change to world. Sneaking down into his secret workshop will be nigh on impossible with a permanent houseguest, considering the hours Tony keeps. How is he to explain a sudden two-day absence just because he was on a working binge? And keeping a regular schedule is beyond him; even Pepper has given up on forcing him into trying.

Which leaves the alternative of _telling_ Bucky that he has a side-job of sorts, that he is crazy and as much of a certified genius as he has claimed. All while withholding his last name. There are lines he is not willing to cross, even for a handsome face like this.

Tony sighs inwardly. What he will have to do is choose between apparent loneliness and baring his soul. One of them is just an annoying symptom of being left in peace and can be cured by making a trip or inviting his friends. The other bears countless opportunities to end in tears, blood and a long list of problems for both SI and Tony himself.

When Tony looks up and finds Bucky watching him speculatively, one breath away from refusing anyway, there is no real choice at all.

With a cheerful tone, he opens the can of worms and says, “Just don’t feel compelled to do the dishes or Butterfingers will think I’ve replaced him,” which just has to raise questions. And once Bucky asks, how can he _not_ explain?

Only Bucky does not ask the right question. “What?” he exclaims in confusion.

Tony realizes he has been leaping ahead again. While Bucky has not yet accepted that he is not only allowed but wanted to stay, Tony is already trying to figure out further logistics.

“Come on up,” he says, just like the first time he has pushed Bucky into staying. “No sense in working on your first day. And I’ll have to show you everything.”

“But I’ve already been upstairs.”

“You’ll see what I mean.”

Tony has no intentions to let Bucky into his basement workshop, but he knows his bots, knows that Butterfingers will have climbed into the elevator up to the kitchen as soon as JARVIS informed him the coast is clear, to smash a couple more of Tony’s dishes. The little menaces should feel themselves very lucky that Tony is fond of them.

When Bucky follows Tony up the stairs, Tony can barely contain his giddiness, although he cannot quite explain why. At SI, for one, JARVIS is no secret and the existence of the bots is just another fact, although few people have ever seen them. Pepper and Rhodey have, of course, but the outside world is not and cannot be privy to them. Tony can barely imagine the reaction if it came out that he is playing around with artificial intelligences. Give it a week at the most and someone will be prophesizing him building a superbot intent on destroying the world.

Introducing Bucky to what are essentially his children is not only illogical but also poses a threat to their happy, undiscovered existence. Still, it feels somehow right. If this goes south, he will at least be able to tell himself _I told you so_. Which is a small consolation, of course, but Tony has always been good at working with what he has got.

When Tony strides into the kitchen, he finds Butterfingers just where he expected him to be, bowed over the sink, cheerfully clashing their breakfast plates together, while the water rushes unused down the drain. Well, no one can expect the bots to be frugal with a father like him. Tony does not have to turn around to know that Bucky has stopped cold in the doorway, but he looks anyway, because he loves to watch people when he has just managed to shock or surprise them.

“Tada,” he says, wishing he could ask JARVIS for a drum roll, but he should maybe not overwhelm his guest. JARVIS is a hell of a step farther than a simple helping bot.

“What is that?” Bucky asks after a long moment, taking a tentative step into the kitchen. To Tony’s satisfaction he does not look freaked out but more intrigued. Then again, right now, the bot looks more like an over-complicated kitchen appliance, absolutely failing at doing its job.

“The correct question would be _who_ is that,” Tony corrects, not fighting against the manic grin spreading on his face. “The answer to which is: Butterfingers.”

At that, Butterfingers looks up beeping with furious happiness. They are always so excited to see him – or anyone, really – especially outside of the workshop where the chances are higher that Tony will spend some time with them instead of getting back to work immediately.

“You built a robot – to help you with your housework?” Bucky sounds so incredulous that Tony cannot help but laugh. His guest’s face is not sceptic, his voice not revolted. What else could he ask for?

“They can do more than that?” Tony says, although it ends up more like a question, because he is not sure how much he should dump on Bucky in one go.

“They?” Bucky asks but quickly focuses his attention on the bot coming right towards him, beeping cheerfully and waving his arm. A sane person would likely have turned around to run, but Bucky only stares in fascination.

“Hello,” he greets when the bot comes to a halt in front of him, touching his metal arm with his. “I know what you’re saying: we’re not so different, you and I, but let me cure you from that illusion.” For a short moment, Tony thinks he has grossly miscalculated, but there is a smile on Bucky’s face and then he keeps talking and Tony remembers how to breathe. “Tony just told me that you like to do the dishes, which I absolutely don’t. Soap has the fingers get so slippery. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

Butterfingers answers something, all beeps and chirps, then drags Bucky over to the sink as if to show off his work, and Bucky follows willingly, a wide smile on his face. Standing rooted in his place, Tony watches them with an expression he just knows must be a little shocked. It is not that he expected Butterfingers to be skittish or shy. In fact, they are too trusting – something they definitely did not get from him. But what surprises him is the ease with which Bucky meets the bot, apparently seeing nothing unusual in having a one-armed-robot running around the crazy mechanic’s kitchen. Maybe he has seen stranger things, although Tony very much hopes he has not because he likes being at the top of any scale.

He keeps watching them; Butterfingers all excited and Bucky answering, his voice soft. This might just be one of the most beautiful things he has ever seen. This stranger-turned-potential-roommate accepting one of his children without so much as a hitch.

Finally, Tony decides he cannot stay out of it any longer, and walks over to the sink too, almost skipping. Bucky acknowledges him with a smile and nod when he comes to a halt at his side, but never interrupts his kind-of-conversation with Butterfingers.

When there is a pause, Tony says, “People usually freak out when they’re ambushed by a robot. The townies like me well enough but few dare to come into the shop.” He lets his fondness enter his voice. No shame in showing that. “DUM-E is always a little overeager.”

“DUM-E?” Bucky asks, distracted by Butterfingers’ newest barrage of beeping.

“My oldest,” Tony explains proudly, then grimaces, “he’s a menace with a fable for fire-extinguishers. If you see him with one, you had better run.” He has never learned taking his own advice, but he can at least try to spare Bucky being drenched every other day for absolutely no reason. “There’s also You. And JARVIS, although he is a little more sophisticated. And does not have an arm to assault you with.”

The way Bucky stares at him has heat spreading through Tony’s chest. His eyes are just so intense that it is doubtful whether Tony can ever look away again. “Can I meet them too?”

This gives Tony pause. Not the expected nightmare of having all three bots go mad with the pure joy of meeting someone new. Not the logistical problems of getting them all to go back to the underground lab afterwards – and how is he going to explain to Bucky where they all go and why he has not seen them before? It is just that Bucky sounds so honest about it.

“You truly want to?” Tony has to ask, because in his old world people never say what they mean, and it is hard to shake expecting that.

“Of course,” Bucky answers without hesitation. “They are brilliant.”

Well, Tony thinks, there is no going back now. He is in too deep – even while refusing to think of _what_ exactly he is too deep in. The answer is Bucky, of course, but it is not an explanation.

“JARVIS,” he says, plunging right in, “meet our newest tenant.”

And JARVIS, naturally, does not disappoint. His answer comes promptly and well-prepared. “Mr. Barnes, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

Bucky frowns at the ceiling, trying to find out where the voice has come from. As usual, it amuses Tony to no end. Sometimes he thinks people might be right when they fear he is going to become an evil overlord or something, intent on taking over the world with sentient technology. It would be as easy as it would bring him tremendous satisfaction. But he would need Pepper on board to keep thinks in order, and she is being a spoilsport, refusing to be an accessory to his madness. Her words, not his. Brilliance, he supposes, is often underappreciated.

“Hello,” Bucky answers tentatively, looking around the kitchen until Tony takes pity on him.

“JARVIS doesn’t have a body,” he says, realizing this will only make Bucky’s confusion grow. But he does not think that talking about AIs and code will make it any easier. “If you need anything, just talk to him. He is going to hear you.” Mock-stern but grinning, he adds, “Whether he listens is up to his mood.”

“I am only what you made me, sir.”

The banter feels like velvet, the most familiar thing in the world, except perhaps for Pepper’s hugs and Rhodey’s laughter.

“Which is a sarcastic little shit,” Tony says, feeling more pride for that than is likely healthy.

“I aim to please.”

Tony laughs in delight. Truly, all of his other inventions pale in comparison to JARVIS, who doubles up as lab assistant and faithful companion, the only person he trusts completely.

Looking at Bucky, Tony can pinpoint the exact moment he turns from confused to awed. Which is utterly deserved, of course, but a bit of confirmation never goes amiss.

Deciding he can very well go full in, Tony adds, “Send in DUM-E and You, please.”

“If you’re sure,” JARVIS cautions, albeit Tony would bet his not inconsiderable wealth that he is already ushering the two other bots into the elevator. No second-guessing allowed here. “They won’t ever want to leave again.”

“I’ll leave that in your capable hands.”

It is a thing of beauty, watching Bucky crouch down to greet each of his children, to have them circle their guest without Bucky getting tired of their constant beeping and nudging him with their arms. They are, naturally, excited about Bucky’s metal arm and he indulges them patiently, where human touch might have easily sent him into another panic attack.

After some time, when the excitement has died down a bit, Tony uses DUM-E’s low battery as an excuse to send them all back down into the workshop – without revealing where they are going.

“Thank you,” Bucky says when they are alone, looking at Tony like he truly means it. “They are wonderful.”

“Wait until you are chased by You for the first time when he is trying to be helpful,” Tony says, fondness shining through the words, “and never drink anything DUM-E has prepared. He likes motor oil a little bit too much.”

“I can imagine it never gets lonely with them.”

Tony cannot do anything but stare. What is he supposed to say to that? That his father smashed the first robot he ever built and Tony forever dreamed of building one that would meet Howard’s standards so he would be allowed to keep it? That the first time JARVIS answered him he had wept, because that, right then, was the moment he knew he would never be alone again if he did not want to? A knowledge he became all the more certain of the farther JARVIS grew, surpassing even Tony’s wildest hopes. He had not just created a computer program, but a person, who might have had loyalty to him written into his code, but who seemed to like him above and beyond that. The saying goes that one cannot built oneself a friend, but Tony had gone and done it anyway. And he could not be happier about anything else.

“They are family,” he says for lack of a better word, but Bucky merely nods like he understands him, like there is nothing strange about calling robots his children.

And, maybe, it truly is not.


	4. Chapter 4

 With the days passing, they fall into a routine. No matter whether Tony has slept or not, they meet for coffee in the morning, Bucky stumbling barely awake into the kitchen where they greet the new day in companionable silence. Then they get to work in the shop, dealing with the small and big repairs and occasional fun project from less conservative neighbours. Depending on how much they have to do, Tony leaves for his workshop sooner or later. Always, Bucky wonders if he should ask whether he might come along, but he usually refrains, thinking Tony might want to keep some of his secrets.

Tony is a genius. He has said so himself, and the bots and JARVIS are somewhat proof too, but he sometimes spends his time on equations that Bucky cannot even begin to make heads or tails of, and no matter what state of mind he is in, sleep-deprived or hungry or working on half a dozen other tasks at the same time. It is fascinating to watch. It is like Tony’s brain climbs to a completely different level, his eyes growing both focussed and absentminded, spending hours at a time without sparing his surroundings as much as a glance.

Bucky does not usually see the results of this, but he guesses they have more to do with Tony earning his living than the repair shop, which feels with each passing day more like it is but a distraction or a hobby to Tony. One he takes seriously, yes, but which is not the most important thing in his life.

While Tony works, Bucky is left to his own devices. He has been given full access to the house except for the basement, including Tony’s vast online library of books and movies and music. So when he is not tinkering in the shop, he catches up on all he has missed out on during his tours with the army. More and more often, however, Tony has taken to working upstairs, curling up on the couch with Bucky next to him, tapping away on his tablet. Even if they do not talk during those times, they are happy to just keep each other company. And conversation flows freely during all other times.

Tony, of course, can talk for hours, barely having to breathe between sentences. But Bucky, despite having grown into a rather lazy conversationalist since coming back home not quite whole anymore, does not have any trouble answering in kind. It does not matter which topic they choose, they do not grow bored of each other.

All of it feels rather dangerous to Bucky, who is not used to getting attached to people. Not this quickly, and not this wholly either. But Tony has something about him that makes it the easiest thing in the world. Bucky can barely imagine going back to the lonely hours on the road, having nowhere to go and no one to turn to. Well, nowhere but home, which has become so suffocating that it had caused him to flee.

The other thing is, he has not told Steve about Tony. He has only said that he is staying somewhere for the moment, helping out in a garage. But no mention of the fact that it is not the work keeping him there, not the need for money or whatever reason Steve might think of. He is not sure why he is holding this back, but he wants Tony to be his for now, to not have to defend his choices or to have to listen to Steve’s worries and Clint’s jokes and whatever troubling information Natasha digs up. He is glad to have such friends. They are a unit in all things. He would just like to be left to his own devices at times.

Bucky is happy where he is for now. Which has him feeling that this is too good to last, that their time is running out, but he cannot afford to think like that, because that is a downward spiral he will likely not make it out of anymore. Peace of mind is not in the habit of lasting, but he hopes to make the best of it.

He likes to think that he does. With Tony at his side, he feels almost human again. Maybe it is just that he has withdrawn so completely from other people that now that he is letting someone close again it feels so right. But maybe they just fit in together. And they grow closer with every passing day.

The first time they kiss, it is not a conscious decision on Bucky’s part, more like the logical next step in the natural order of things. He feels so very comfortable in Tony’s home, with Tony’s presence all around him. One evening they are sitting on the couch together, which is big enough for them to sit without touching each other, and still they have moved closer together, with Tony leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, barely concentrating on the movie they are watching because he is tinkering with something he brought up from his workshop.

It is just _right._ Tony’s warmth next to him, the comfortable sleepiness, which Bucky has lost long ago to the constant fear of nightmares but now found again. But he is in a typical country home with a secret workshop in the basement that would fit right into a sci-fi movie and a genius fitting perfectly against him. His next move could almost be excused by that. Almost.

“Can you hold that for a moment?” Tony asks, putting some wire into his hand without waiting for an answer, too fixated on what he is doing. Their fingers touch and Bucky is hyperaware of it.

Tony looks beautiful when he works, eyes alit and hands never resting, having the air of someone utterly passionate about what he is doing, and Bucky can barely get enough of watching him. When Tony wants to take the wire back from him, Bucky’s metal hand does not open as expected, causing Tony to look up at him, questioning.

They are close and when their eyes meet, Bucky just moves his head down, pressing his lips gently down on Tony’s. As far as kisses go, this one is very innocent and perfect in Bucky’s mind.

That is, of course, only until he wakes from his stupor and realizes what he has done. Eyes wide, he scrambles back, searching for an apology that will not come as he watches Tony watching him, caught in a daze, his mouth turned up in a surprised smile. It does not look like Tony is offended by what he has done, but he also does not seem quite back in reality yet. So Bucky, shell shocked, does not yet flee but keeps very still and waits.

“That took you way too long,” Tony says softly, before following after Bucky to initiate a kiss of his own.

And, oh, Tony knows how to kiss. Bucky might not be innocent himself, but his flirtatious ways have ended when he went to war and came back damaged. But Tony moves against him with unveiled desire, not a trace of hesitation in the curve of his lips.

Seconds pass, maybe hours, while things settle into place for Bucky, despite him struggling against it.

“Wait,” he asks when they separate, staying close enough that all Bucky can see is Tony’s smile and the light in his eyes. “You’re okay with this?”

That is not the right question to ask after the kiss they have just shared, but Bucky needs to ask it nonetheless. Nothing is certain anymore, not his own feelings and certainly not other people’s. So much has gone wrong lately, he desperately wants this to go right.

Cupping Bucky’s cheek with a calloused hand, Tony never stops looking completely comfortable with what he is doing. “I might be an incorrigible flirt,” he says gently, maybe understanding where Bucky’s uncertainty comes from, “but I meant everything I told you.”

“What?” Bucky is confused, because they have not talked about anything specific this evening. Nothing that concerns them, at least.

But Tony just chuckles fondly, and still manages to sound serious. “You’re gorgeous and talented and I don’t want you to leave.”

“You what?” Bucky has to ask again, thinking he has not understood Tony correctly. How did they go from a spontaneous kiss to thinking about a future here, turning this roommate arrangement they have into something long-term?

Tony draws back, frowning. “I’m sorry. Forget I said that.”

Bucky feels the loss of him keenly, his skin prickling where they had just been touching. Or maybe that is just the cool air being given access to him again.

“I sure as hell won’t,” Bucky says firmly, perhaps too quickly but he cannot stand that expression on Tony’s face for a moment longer. Still, he needs to clarify this. “You want me to stay?” he asks, hating how uncertain he sounds.

Looking at him wide-eyed, Tony says, “I – yes?” forming it like a question, but it still feels like he means it.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Bucky breathes, briefly closing his eyes, but hates himself for it, because darkness is what he has been seeing for way too long. And he has Tony to look at now, which is a sight he much prefers.

“I mean,” Tony stumbles over the words, stops, then tries again, “that’s what you were doing, yes?”

It is liberating to somehow be the one reassuring Tony now. His fears are not alleviated, but he is certain he does not want to leave. Not now. Not when what they have is so very soothing yet exciting. Bucky cannot imagine returning to his small apartment in New York, waiting for time to pass or his friends to stop by, hoping for something, anything at all, to pierce the bleakness – not when he can have this.

Leaning forward, Bucky covers one of Tony’s hands with his. “Even if I had something else waiting for me,” he says, voice thickening but that does not matter because truth always wants out and he cannot be ashamed of this one, “this is the place where I want to be.”

Tony’s expression morphs into something like wonder, then unchecked satisfaction. He covers it up with a smirk but Bucky has already seen it, felt the need to recreate it settle heavily into his bones.

“In that case, come here and kiss me again. Maybe don’t ever stop.” Tony grins, tugging at Bucky’s hand, who complies readily but stops halfway through the movement, looking up in mock-concern.

“Not even for a coffee break?”

Gasping dramatically, Tony pulls Bucky close in the rest of the way, eyes glinting mischievously before their lips meet again. “I’m sorry,” he breathes, “but not even you are better than coffee.”

 

* * *

 

They go to bed together, never breaking touch. Tony’s lips feel alive and his whole body is alert of someone being close to him. Someone unbelievably handsome and apparently just as interested in Tony as he is in him.

Tony’s bed has never been more inviting. He pulls Bucky down with him until they sit in the middle of it, with their legs intertwined so they can be close to each other.

He could just look at Bucky forever. The long hair, the full lips, the depth of his eyes. Tony is very aware that there are not only good memories tucked away behind that face, but Tony knows all about being shattered and picking oneself up again to limp forward. Bucky might not realize that he has been doing just that, his mouth always pulling into something sardonic when he talks about his road trip, his shoulders slumping when he speaks of home, but he has gone out into the world, looking for ground to build something new on. What Tony does _not_ know is whether he could be that ground, but he does not want to ruin the mood contemplating that, because for the first time in forever he has someone looking at him like this, reaching out to touch him not just for the sake of having done it but because he maybe wants to peel away the layers Tony shows the world. This is a dangerous thing but Tony has never been a coward. To win something, one has to _dare_.

Tony’s hands make short work of Bucky’s shirt, pulling it off impatiently only to get distracted by the way the mechanical arm glints in the soft light of this bedroom. He feels Bucky tense, which is probably due to the scars lining not only what is left of Bucky’s shoulder but also his back and torso.

He has never been closer to war than this. Shame fills him like something hot flooding his veins. This is what he has once made his money with, giving the government constantly better means to outfit young men to send them to fight, only to come back not quite whole anymore, damaged inside and out.

Bucky is still the most beautiful person he has ever seen, and he breathes that out loud while his fingers ghost over the transition of flesh into metal. The arm is only enhancing Bucky’s beauty. Which, Tony concludes somewhat sheepishly, might just be because it is something he made, adorning this man he has allowed into his home and past quite a number of his shields.

“Stop talking,” Bucky all but growls, still tense. He very carefully does not move his arm, as if he fears he could accidentally break Tony just by lifting a finger.

“You know I never do,” Tony says, utterly non-apologetic. “Also, everything I said is true, and I’ll just have to repeat it until you believe it.”

“The scars,” Bucky starts, then trails off, likely not knowing how to put his emotions into words.

“Are a part of you, showing that you _lived_.” Making a show of his nonchalance, Tony pulls off his own shirt. “I might not have been through anything comparable to you, but I know a bit about scars.”

For the longest time, he has looked at the scarring on his chest as something deplorable, a sign of how bad a person he is. Who needs to take shrapnel to his heart to realize he is making the world a worse place, day by day? How dare he have called himself a futurist when all he was serving was death?

For years, he had fought with his father and Stane to have SI venture into other technical areas but weapons. He had had so many ideas even as a child. But he let them talk him out of it, gave in to their supposed expertise, always afraid of losing their approval completely. In the end, he does not think he ever had any, and still he gave up everything he believed in. He thinks that is worse than if he had actually believed in making weapons.

Bucky raises his hand to the scars on Tony’s chest, much more tentatively than Tony had done, barely gracing the skin

“What happened?” he asks, then winces like it is a forbidden question. Some years ago, it would have been.

Now however, Tony only shrugs. “Took a business trip to an active warzone and was rather careless about who I trusted.” It is the kind of answer raising only more question but Bucky accepts it easily. He might not suspect the entirety of what Tony is holding back – and who could? – but he knows enough of pain to understand the gist of it.

“Without wanting to sound vain,” Tony continues, deliberately matter-of-factly, “I don’t think these scars make me less of a person. Why would it be any different with you?” Inclining his head, he adds, “Even if yours have a more sinister story behind them.”

There is no use in comparing scars, but Tony does not want to put the markings of his own folly up to the same level as Bucky’s losses.

Shaking his head, Bucky hesitates only a moment before leaning forward to press a kiss on Tony’s chest, right over his heart. “You’re right, I’m sure. But knowing that is quite different from accepting it too.”

Tony closes his eyes for a brief moment, listening to the way his heartbeat starts racing in response to Bucky’s touch. “Then,” he says, pulling Bucky’s face up towards his own, “I’ll just have to keep telling you. Or,” his lips turn up in a promising smile, “I’ll just show you.”

 

* * *

 

When they wake up in the morning, Tony is curled up in Bucky’s arms, warm and safe and completely comfortable with where he is. He tries not to move, to keep this moment alive for as long as he can. For waking up, he has learned, brings back reality, and reality is always colder than his dreams.

“Good morning,” Bucky mutters into Tony’s ear too soon. He sounds content, although still very sleepy. In his head, he could be anywhere but here with Tony in bed, perhaps remembering easier times, another love.

Tony hates himself for these thoughts but he has been taught them since the day he was born and things did not get better since then. He has not yet arranged himself with his numerous issues.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, nonetheless cheerful. No need to make the inevitable any worse. With lazy movements, he turns around in Bucky’s arms so they face each other.

Bucky takes him in closely, and Tony already thinks this is it, when a bright smile spreads across his face. “I was afraid this was only a dream,” he says, lifting his arm from Tony’s shoulders to trail his cheek.

“So it isn’t then?” Tony cannot help but ask. His voice does not waver but he feels himself frowning.

“I very much hope not.” Then Bucky leans forward, pressing his lips on Tony’s forehead to smooth away the frown. “You feel very real at least.”

They need another half an hour to get out of bed, both unwilling to let go of each other and not allowing thoughts or doubts to interrupt the comfort of lying in another’s arms. It should not feel good, them still being virtually strangers, but it does. At one point, though, the need for coffee gets too much and they scramble out of bed, hands flittering over to each other every other moment.

When they finally slump at the kitchen table, only halfway dressed but steaming cups in front of them, it is still real, and Bucky is still not running.

Somewhat dazed by this development, Tony opens his mouth and, since his brain-to-mouth filter is practically non-existent in this state of mind, says, “I should invest in some new lube. Although I should have some lying around somewhere.”

“Do you think that’ll scare the villagers? Would we have to expect a torch-carrying mob?” Bucky asks in between sips of coffee. He seems to be treating Tony’s words like he meant it as a joke, meaning Tony should tread carefully now, lest he ruins things again by assuming too much. But then Bucky starts grinning. “But we don’t have to worry about that. I’ve got some.”

That takes some time to register in Tony’s mind, but when it does, he can still barely believe he heard right. Fighting to keep his expression calm, he remarks, “Of course, you’re out on your grand journey to find yourself, so you can’t forget the important things.”

Bucky smiles ruefully and says, “Actually Steve packed it. Along with condoms. The only thing missing was a pamphlet and a hand-written note telling me to _stay safe, sane and consensual_.”

Not able to help himself, Tony bursts out laughing, a full-belly laugh, causing him to curl into himself because of laughter cramps and lack of air. It does not take Bucky long to join in. It is such a hilarious thing to imagine. That Steve seems to be as much of a worry wart as Pepper, although she thankfully has never handed him condoms but merely tried to beat some sense into him with her sharp tongue and patented disapproving glare.

“Well,” Tony says in between bouts of laughter, “we have at least two checked, then. But you will not find much sanity here.”

And Bucky simply shrugs. “All the better.”


	5. Chapter 5

Once Tony invites him into the basement, Bucky curses himself for waiting so long. For the workshop is something amazing, having quite the unreal atmosphere to it, since it comes so unexpected in a house like this. They spend hours together down there; Tony working and Bucky content to watch, thinking there might not be a more beautiful thing in the world than Tony concentrating on what he loves doing most.

Since the secret is out, of course, Tony keeps forgetting about meals and bed time, so that Bucky more often than not brings him food and coffee. First as an excuse to join him, later just because. They become comfortable with each other like that.

On his way down the stairs, Bucky hears Tony’s voice but does not think much of it, for Tony is always talking. To JARVIS or the bots or himself. He just keeps up a running commentary or drowns himself in loud music. Nothing is ever quiet where Tony is involved.

Bucky likes that. As much as he could not bear his friends’ constant nagging to re-join life, things are different with Tony. If Bucky does not want to talk back, he does not have to. Tony just integrates him into what he is doing, moves not around him but _with_ him, even if Bucky never even twitches out of place. In short, Tony is _alive_ in a way that Bucky has never realized he missed until he got to be a part of it.

He smiles widely as he enters the workshop, a greeting on his lips that dies quickly when he notices that Tony is not talking to himself but is busy with a video call with a pretty blonde.

She looks tall and stern, talking with authority but also a smile in her eyes.

It would be the polite thing to leave them to it, but Bucky finds himself unable to. There is something about Tony’s face, illuminated by the big screen, that has him mesmerized. His expression is open in a way it never is with the town folk and only sometimes with Bucky, especially when they are both almost asleep on the couch or when Tony is deeply buried in his work. That is the reason Bucky assumes the woman is his friend Pepper.

There are only two people Tony speaks of with fondness, or rather who he speaks of at all. Maybe that would trouble Bucky more if he did not have only his friends to talk about too. Steve, Nat, Clint. They have other acquaintances, of course, but these are the ones that count enough to mention in conversation with near strangers and sort-of-lovers.

He shies away from categorizing what he and Tony are doing here. For putting a name on it means to define it, and definitions have beginnings and ends, rules and expected next steps. He is happy with what they are doing for now. Happy enough to not want it to change.

“No,” Tony says firmly, ripping Bucky out of his musings. There is the hint of a whine accompanying Tony’s voice. “I can’t come and you very well know why. I’ve got the shop to take care of.”

“My,” the woman says, wielding sarcasm just as naturally as Tony does, “there is a first for everything, even Tony Stark taking his responsibilities serious.”

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Tony rolls his eyes, clearly not taking her words personally, “I’m just taking your advice and try not to botch up everything I do.”

This is the moment that Tony notices Bucky standing in the doorway. His expression falls, turns into something resigned and dejected, but he smoothens it into a neutral façade so quickly that Bucky’s heart goes out to him, even while his mind is still reeling with what he has just heard. _Stark_.

It could be coincidence that his Tony has the same name as the owner of a multi-billion-dollar company. But – actually it could not. Bucky remembers distantly that there was a scandal some years back after which SI did not only stop producing weapons – a fact mourned by almost the whole US Army – but that had its CEO disappearing into thin air too. He has never been one for gossip but everyone has heard about Tony Stark, the genius, the tech prodigy, the playboy, the uncaring bastard aptly named the Merchant of Death. That is not the picture he has built of his Tony at all, but who else could he be? A genius with a secret basement lab where sentient robots run around. It explains the odd expensive thing amid the simple country stuff, and the grand attitude Tony sometimes adopts, and why he had the schematics for Bucky’s arm conveniently lying around.

For a long moment, the two men just stare at each other, neither of them moving or saying anything. Bucky realizes his expression must be puzzled, although he cannot quite say why Tony looks so pale.

The genius snaps his head back to the screen when Pepper clicks her tongue impatiently, demanding his full attention. “I realize I told you to take all the time you need,” she says sternly, although that is likely directed at herself for being foolish enough to offer Tony this freedom, “but this is a big thing, and I need you here. The Chinese –”

“Then tell the Chinese to stuff it,” Tony cuts her off, not harshly but still making it obvious he is not willing to give in. His back is now resolutely turned to Bucky, which is as clear a dismissal as it can get, and still Bucky stays where he is, instinctively knowing that something will break, maybe irrevocably, if he leaves now. “When I gave you complete control, I _meant_ you to have it. You’re SI’s head, not me. I’m just the guy in the basement, presenting you with new ideas every now and then.”

“And they want to talk with _you_ about one of _your_ ideas _,_ ” Pepper explains, sounding exasperated. “They don’t want a middleman.”

Tony is clearly done with the conversation, making Bucky wonder whether he is the reason for that, having stumbled in on them at such an inconvenient moment. Or maybe Tony handles all his business endeavours this carelessly, thus needing a CEO with a better understanding of what is important. He has no problems working with the town folk, being widely accepted in the area. But, Bucky supposes, that is not comparable to SI with its international connections and projects that are more elaborate and expensive than cars and household appliances.

“Set up a video conference,” Tony all but orders, “I’m not going to China for a meeting.” Then his tone softens a bit. “Remember how I couldn’t be bothered to show up to meetings when I was in the same building as everyone else? Why do you gather that has changed now? Especially if I need to cross an ocean.”

“Tony.” Pepper sighs long-sufferingly. Apparently she does remember and does not like being reminded of it, although it does take some of the fight out of her.

“Pepper, listen,” Tony sounds almost desperate when he says her name. At the same time, he speaks it like a prayer, like the most familiar thing in the world. “I know I’m making your life difficult, but the whole reason for coming out here was that I didn’t want to be that guy anymore.”

That guy? Bucky wonders what he means. Despite the bad press, America had loved Stark. Or loved to hate him. Which, in his business, is likely the same thing.

“The businessman?” Pepper asks, albeit she looks like she knows it is not that.

“Tony fucking Stark,” Tony answers promptly, so much derision in his tone that it has Bucky flinching.

“Oh, Tony.” This time his name sounds much softer on her lips, sad almost, like she wants nothing more than to reach out and smooth the frown from his forehead. Or maybe that is just Bucky.

“Life is good here, Pep,” he says and glances over his shoulder at Bucky, face closing off again when he sees him still standing there.

Pepper does not notice it, thankfully, but when she speaks, she seems to do so to the both of them. “You don’t have to be anyone you don’t want to be.”

A short laugh breaks from Tony, sharp enough to cut. “If that were true, I would have never come home from MIT.”

Pepper is silent, just watching Tony, before she sighs, apparently giving up. “All right. But _please_ don’t forget the video conference. I’ll have JARVIS remind you.”

“I’ll do my best.”

She snorts in a way that tells Bucky she has heard that particular sentence one time too many to believe it, but her eyes are still fond when she looks at Tony.

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” The words have the air of tradition around them, and both their voices are fond.

“Yes, that will be all, Ms. Potts.”

The video call ends, but Tony does not turn around immediately. He breathes in and out, deeply, like he needs to anchor himself. Bucky wonders whether he should say anything. Apologize, perhaps, for listening in. He is worried that this has damaged the trust that was slowly building between them. His mind is too used to grief these days, so the heavy feeling is already growing in the pit of his stomach.

But then Tony does face him, and he is so unreadable that Bucky almost takes a step back in surprise. This is not the man who has taken him in, full of jokes and flirting, brain filled with wonderful ideas. But the closer Bucky looks, the more he sees: Tony’s shoulders are straight to the point they have to hurt, his hands are carefully out of sight, his jaw clenched. No, this is not the man he has gotten to know but one waiting to be judged.

“So?” Tony asks, aggressive almost, spitting the word out as though it flays him open.

The realization that Tony is _afraid_ of all things has Bucky almost laugh in relief. Fear is something he understands, something he can deal far better with than anger.

“You’re Tony _Stark_ , the billionaire? Owner of Stark Industries?” He cannot help the amusement slipping out, but Tony does not seem to hear it because he only gets tenser, pulling into himself where it gets difficult for Bucky to reach him. So he quickly adds, “Well, I knew that coffee machine was too elaborate for the likes of you.”

He shrugs for good measure, then turns deliberately towards DUM-E, who is waiting uncharacteristically shy to the side, like he has picked up on the atmosphere in the room and does not know how to react. He beeps softly, when Bucky pats his arm on his way to the couch he uses to occupy when they are both down here.

“Wait,” Tony calls out in his back, confusion apparent, “that’s it? No anger? You’re not demanding an explanation?”

Just like that, Bucky’s heart breaks a little bit more. He knows where Tony is coming from, of course. This is a big thing, potentially. This is ‘you’ve been unknowingly sleeping with a billionaire for several weeks’ big, and ‘he’s been holding back on you’ big. But the truth is, Bucky could not care less for all of that. One of the things he liked most about Tony from the very beginning, is that he does not ask the questions that hurt if he senses that Bucky does not want to answer them. So how could he do it any differently in return?

“Tony,” Bucky says, trying to speak the name as softly as Pepper had. He is not sure whether he succeeds, but Tony’s eyes do lose some of their aggravated sheen. “You didn’t move this far into nowhere because you want to answer questions.”

“But I lied to you.” The words are desperate, like Tony needs Bucky to react in anger, because otherwise he does not know what to make of this situation and how to handle it.

But Bucky cannot give him that. They have known all along that there are secrets between them. How could he resent Tony for that, now that he has found out about one of them?

“You omitted your surname.” He shrugs, deliberately casual, leaning back into the cushions of the couch like their conversation is nothing out of the ordinary. “I got to know you despite that. And I like what I found.” Then he remembers something, and adds in a thoughtful tone, “This also explains why Steve wrote me there was a letter for me from Stark Industries, saying that they reopened the prostheses program.”

He had wondered about that, but figured that maybe Tony had called some old contacts at SI. He had not mentioned it because he was not sure what to think about that. Were it only about himself, he might have reacted unkindly to Tony going behind his back, but his arm _did_ hurt him for a small eternity and there might be dozens of other veterans out there feeling the same. So it is a good thing, not something to be complained about just because Bucky was not clued in about it.

“You’re really not angry?” Tony asks in a small voice. He is still standing in front of the screen, tense and too far away.

“No, Tony,” Bucky says honestly, “I’m not.” Then he opens his arms and beckons Tony closer, not allowing himself to think about what he will do if Tony does not come. “And now shut up and kiss me.”

When Tony still hesitates, looking like he does not believe Bucky will not bite his head off, Bucky takes the initiative himself. He gets to his feet, skirts skilfully around DUM-E in his way and pulls Tony close without much ceremony. This is about feeling one another, about holding someone they care about close.

“You’ll always be Tony, the crazy mechanic,” Bucky says, pressing a soft kiss into Tony’s lips, which reciprocate eagerly. “Now I just don’t have to worry anymore that you’ve paid for your fancy lab down here with drugs or something.”

“I would be an awesome drug dealer,” Tony protests, his tone not quite light, but he makes an effort to get rid of his tension.

Bucky chuckles. “No, you wouldn’t. You talk too much.”

“Then give me something better to do.”

They do not get any more work done that day. The bots beep dejectedly when they stumble past them, leaving them alone, but they barely notice it. There is a new fire to Tony that Bucky cannot help but appreciate. Maybe it is because the secret of Tony’s last name is out, or purely because of Bucky’s reaction to it, but they cling to each other like this is all they have been waiting for.

Well, Bucky thinks, maybe it is. It feels like it, and more so with each passing day.

 

* * *

 

They lie in bed one morning when things start to go wrong. It makes sense, from a detached point of view, because Tony has been growing too comfortable. It is all too good to be true: a handsome stranger stumbles into his life, laughs at Tony’s jokes, kisses him with passion, and does not care about his last name or the fact that he has blood on his hands. They have not talked about that last bit, because there are things Tony has buried so deep inside him that he will never voluntarily dig them up, but it is implied, surely. Stark Industries and weapons were almost synonymous for a long time, and as an ex-soldier Bucky knows better than most what weapons can do.

But all of that seems so far away when Tony is in Bucky’s arms, enjoying the moment instead of always hurrying towards the next.

“Wanna tell me what you’re running from?” he asks sleepily, noticing far too late how the muscles beneath his cheek grow rigid. This is a thing that has been bothering him for a while now. Bucky is a good person. He has scars, yes, but he also has a home waiting for him. Tony understands that this is not always enough to hold someone back, but he has always been too curious for his own good, so he wants to know.

“What are we all running from?” Bucky mutters. There is something off in his tone that has Tony looking up at him. Bucky avoids his eyes, but Tony does not think much of it at first. They have been playing this dodging game for long enough now to not take it serious.

“You don’t have to answer.”

Tony meant it not as only as a question but also as an offer to listen if Bucky wants to talk. Rhodey always does that for him, and Tony appreciates it, even though he seldom takes him up on it.

“No,” Bucky says, glancing at Tony before staring back at the ceiling, “it’s just – I can’t even explain it to myself.”

He wriggles free from Tony’s hold, but gently so, and Tony lets him go. There are conversations that cannot be had while touching someone else. It also gives Tony a better chance to watch Bucky, whose face is scrunched up in thought and still so very beautiful. Or maybe all the more beautiful for it.

“Coming back home was difficult,” Bucky finally says, and it seems like he is going to add something else but then he does not, even when Tony refrains from saying something for several long seconds.

“Isn’t it always?” Tony then offers, smiling somewhat bitterly to himself.

He thinks of desert sand and cold nights and falling into Rhodey’s arms when he had already given up hope. America had been so loud when he had come back, so clean and dirty at the same time, so insignificant. He felt so small, so removed from it all, from streets and social rules he used to navigate without a thought. Then, of course, there was Obadiah, making his homecoming more bitter than sweet, and adding a bullet hole to the shrapnel scarring on Tony’s chest, because Tony gave him the chance to explain himself. Because Tony _talks too much_. Even Bucky has already figured that out.

“Not for everyone,” Bucky says in wonderment.

“Steve?”

There is a reason Tony found it so difficult to talk to Rhodey after coming back from Afghanistan, mostly because he could not understand how his friend could return there time and again, while Tony cannot even bear to think about it. It is good to see someone one loves coping, it can even pull one along. But it can also be a source of despair, of constant question of what is the difference between them.

Tony is caught in his own thoughts, so that he does not notice Bucky’s eyes shifting onto him, harder now somehow.

“Why would you say that?” he asks, a somewhat biting tone to the words.

It takes effort not to withdraw. “You went to war together, yes?” Tony says slowly, even while his mind is racing, “and he came home with you, after you lost the arm.”

_Lost_. Tony chides himself right along with Bucky flinching. He does not know the story behind it, but _loss_ is such a simple word for a trauma that is everything but simple. Why again did he start this conversation, opening a can of worms that Bucky has done his best to keep closed? Curiosity will be the death of him at one point.

“But Steve managed to truly come home.”

Tony is so glad that Bucky has answered at all instead of getting out of bed and possibly the house, never to come back, that he almost sighs in relief. Instead, he thinks about what Pepper usually does when he overwhelms her, when the world gets too much.

“Because he set himself a task.” Distraction until one is able to cope, brilliant tactic, although not always healthy. “He was your captain, right? He never gave up on taking care of you.”

Bucky is quiet in response. His frown grows deeper, making Tony wonder whether he has not just made everything worse. He practically said Bucky is just his best friend’s project. He feels the same way with his friends often enough to know that it can hurt. Tony scrambles for something to say, to change the immediate meaning of his words, but Bucky beats him to it.

“So you’re saying he never quite came back either.” Bucky sounds thoughtful, even sad, but not reproachful. That has to count for something. Tony is suddenly reminded why he usually avoids getting caught in emotional talks.

“He’s clinging to what he knows.” Tony shrugs. That is what he does, always hiding away in his work, trusting his fingers to build even while his mind tries to tear everything apart.

“And I don’t?” There is a roughness to Bucky’s tone that has Tony wanting to reach out, but he does not. There is a reason Bucky brought a distance between them and he is not going to disregard that. It is enough that he pushed Bucky into one panic attack already.

“No,” he says, hoping to convey calmness, “you’re looking for something new.”

Half in thoughts, Bucky nods, not looking _at_ Tony anymore but through him, at something far away. “Even though I might never find it.”

Silence falls, one second trickling into another, while the words echo in Tony’s mind. Then, with a start, he realizes he has been making a fool of himself, thinking they might be building something here. Together. Tony knows all about flings and casual sex, and this has not felt like that. Bucky had been looking for something and then he had asked to stay. He had been the first to kiss Tony, with such a bright smile when Tony pulled him closer. He had been the one to follow Tony down into his workshop, falling asleep on the uncomfortable couch just because he did not want to go to bed alone but did not want to keep Tony away from his work either. So, like an idiot, Tony thought he could be the _something_ Bucky wanted to find. Well, obviously not.

He realizes his mouth is open, like he wants to say something but does not know how. His face, too, must mirror his plummeting emotions. It cannot have been for longer than a moment, but even that is too much. He used to be better at this, at appearing untouchable, uncaring, at keeping the world at bay.

Tony sits up and lets the blanket pool around his hips, displaying his scars proudly. His shoulders straighten automatically and his head is always held high. He has nothing to hide. This is his home and his workshop. These are his emotions to master. What had he told Pepper? He is Tony _fucking_ Stark. He guesses it is time to act like it again. The distance between them is already growing.

“Well,” he drawls with a lopsided smirk, “just keep looking.” With that, he stands up, not ashamed of his nakedness as long as he has his face under control. “Anyway, I better get back to work.”

As he reaches for yesterday’s pants and t-shirt, he does not look at Bucky. He does not think he could stand the sight of him in his bed, looking like he belongs but dreaming of different shores.

“Wait,” Bucky calls, sounding confused. He has risen into a sitting position, not trying anymore to shield his metal arm from view.

Oh, yes, their morning coffee. Tony does not know how long one has to do something for it to become a tradition, but drinking their first coffee of the day together has felt like one. Alas, it is something he does not think he can stand right now, needing to sort out his racing brain first.

“What?” Tony very carefully does not snap, “I gotta work on something for Pepper. Didn’t get anything done tonight.”

Because they were busy holding onto each other, interrupted by kisses and smiles.

“What about coffee?”

Tony shrugs, and the very movement hurts somewhere in his chest. “You know how to use the machine by now. If not, JARVIS will help.” He turns to the door, marvelling at how hard it is not to run. “Don’t wait up.”

Then, blissfully, he is gone, taking two stairs at the time. Once he is in his workshop, he locks the door for the first time in weeks.


	6. Chapter 6

After the incident, things become noticeably cooler between the two of them. _Incident_. That is what Bucky calls it. He has thought about it nonstop, that last morning of peace, when holding Tony felt natural and not like a race against time itself.

Tony seldom stays the night anymore. Which is a stupid thing to say, because they sleep in his bed. Or, more aptly, they fall into it, not able to get their hands off each other, clinging and scraping and handling each other much rougher than before. In the beginning, Bucky mistook it for passion, but now he thinks it is more shallow than that.

The sex is good. They know by now how to touch each other, what to avoid and how to elicit desire. They have not grown apart physically. Everything else, however, seems on the verge of falling apart.

Tony used to love cuddling afterwards, curling up in Bucky’s arms with a content smile that Bucky could not get enough of. Now, he is lucky if Tony stays for an hour to sleep off the worst of his exhaustion before getting up with a somewhat apologetic shrug.

“Work,” he says at first before not saying anything at all anymore. He just disappears.

They still flirt and joke and kiss, but all the small touches between them cease almost immediately. Their fingertips do not brush against each other anymore when Tony hands Bucky something. He does not lean into him when they are standing close or passing each other. He does not even reach out for the metal arm, even though he never seemed to get enough of it.

Their meals, too, have become a rare affair. Bucky insists on dinner, luring Tony upstairs with home-cooked meals, but their conversations usually get cut short, and Tony does not join him in the living room anymore afterwards, tinkering while running a sarcastic commentary on the chosen movie of the night.

What is less noticeable but rather hard to swallow, is that the bots have stopped coming upstairs, even Butterfingers to smash the dishes. And more often than not, Bucky is not welcome in the lab downstairs.

“Sorry,” Tony would say, “we’re working on something rather explosive. Wouldn’t want to ruin your handsome face.” Or, “I need to have a video conference later. Maybe you could just stay in the shop.”

Bucky gets the message without problems. That does not mean it does not hurt when he wants to bring Tony lunch one day and ends up in front of a locked door. And, even worse, to have loud music starting after he has knocked without receiving an answer.

He does not know what has happened. Whether he has done something wrong or this is the natural course of things. Maybe they just do not fit as well as he thought. Maybe it was all an illusion from the very beginning. Maybe Tony has simply grown tired of him. Whatever the reason, with each passing day, he feels like he is overstaying his welcome more and more.

It becomes too much, eventually. Bucky has not run away from his home, where people actually want him, to a place where people do not. Well, not _people_. Person. Singular. _Tony_.

When he steps into the guest room on the first floor, it feels already alien to him. He has not slept in here for weeks. The transition from being a stranger to a guest to Tony’s lover – and, he guesses, in reverse – was so smooth, he barely noticed it happening. But here he is now, getting his backpack out of the closet and filling it with all his meagre belongings. It is possible that he is more wistful now than he was before leaving New York. If this is how his great plan to get away and find himself has turned out, all those miles were for nothing. He does not feel any better.

Tony is down in the workshop, so Bucky can bring out his things unnoticed. He feels like he needs the extra minutes to find the words he will say to Tony, or maybe just to gather the courage. But he stands out there for a long time and nothing comes to mind.

Finally, he turns around, sure that something will come to him. And if not, Tony can do what he is best at and talk, sparing Bucky the awkwardness.

Predictably, the door to the workshop is locked, and he hears music blaring from inside, which means that knocking will not help him much, but he does it nonetheless. The feeling of the metal beneath his fingers is familiar, reminding him of the first few times he was allowed down here, shy and careful, not sure whether he will disturb Tony. His knocking had been heard back then, every time.

“JARVIS,” Bucky asks when his standing around becomes pitiful, “could you please tell Tony I’m here.”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.”

It might only be Bucky’s imagination, but he feels that even his relationship with JARVIS has cooled considerably. He still helps Bucky when asked, but there is no more talking, no jokes. Not even sarcasm. He wonders whether it is strange to be as disappointed by that as he is.

“Sir apologizes but he is rather busy at the moment.”

Bucky does not believe for one moment that Tony has apologized, but he does not comment on it.

“It is important,” he implores the invisible AI, “it’ll only take a minute, then I’ll be out of his hair.”

It might have been his tone, or maybe JARVIS knows about his plans to leave – JARVIS usually seems to know everything – but he works a small miracle, because only a moment later the music is turned off. Bucky can hear a muffled argument through the door, but finally there are steps coming towards him and then the door is opened, revealing a frowning Tony, staring at him like he is a nuisance.

“What?”

Bucky has had his doubts before, but now he knows he is making the right decision. Whatever this is now between them, it is not making either of them happy.

“I think it is time for me to leave.” Bucky supposes it best to just get it out with, but the words still scrape in his throat. They still hurt.

The silence between them is absolute for just a moment, almost as if time has come to a stand. Then Tony jerks back to life. Something tugs at Tony’s lips that could just as well be a smile, were it not for the hardness in his eyes. He shows enough teeth to make it look like a warning.

“Give my best to the mama bear,” Tony says, utterly nonchalant. He does not blink, does not ask for an explanation. Most important, he does not ask Bucky to stay.

And that is that. There are no further words between them, since Tony seems impatient to return to his work, barely ruffled by being left. If only it were that easy for Bucky.

They do not wish each other farewell. They do not kiss, although Bucky’s fingertips itch for a last contact of skin on skin, maybe to remind him that this was real, at some point. They do not make promises to keep in touch. One might look at their parting as a clean cut, a mercy, but when the door closes in Bucky’s face, the feeling in his chest is ugly and messy, like losing another limb.

He has not reached the top of the stairs before the music starts blaring again. If possible, even louder than before. He walks through the shop, shoulders his backpack and climbs on his bike. All his movements are automatic, like someone else is doing them for him and he is actually still standing in front of the locked basement.

“Goodbye, JARVIS,” he says, smiling when he at least gets a goodbye in return.

Then the bike hums under him and there is, once again, the open road in front of him.

 

* * *

 

Tony tries not to feel lonely. He was fine before Bucky came along, so he will be fine afterwards too. He has the bots and JARVIS and, albeit farther away, Pepper and Rhodey. He has also always been good at lying to himself.

It has been over for weeks, he tries to tell himself. Bucky leaving was just the inevitable conclusion to an end that had already happened. If anything, he should be happy that all the awkwardness is finally over. He does not have to tiptoe around in his own house anymore, can turn back to his work like he always wanted.

So what if his bed feels too big and his kitchen too empty? So what if Senor Carlos has looked at him worriedly because he has returned to his old habit of ordering food? So what if he is sullen, and ignores his bots because they seem to openly mourn Bucky’s departure?

He is fine. He always is.

“J, turn up the music,” Tony orders, not looking up from his schematics.

JARVIS complies without a word, which is as much proof of his concern as a longwinded argument from Pepper would have been.

“Louder.” The music is already loud, just as he likes it, but he is still thinking, still has to listen to himself.

“Sir?” JARVIS asks, and Tony almost feels bad for him.

“Louder,” he repeats. Then he closes his eyes and tries to hear nothing but other people’s words.

 

* * *

 

There is something wrong with Bucky’s bank account. As someone who has never had a lot of money, he always had a good sense of just how much. Which is the only thing one can do if one does not want to end up with nothing before the month is over.

But now there _is_ money. Too much of it. More than his account has likely ever seen.

He is confused at first, wondering how such a mistake could have happened, and then, shamefully, whether he should report it. They do need everything they can get. His small group of friends are constantly living out of each other’s pockets, and this could help all of them along.

Something nags at the back of his mind and, suddenly, Bucky realizes what must have happened: Tony. The thought curdles in his stomach, as he recoils from the ATM.

Does Tony think he stayed to be _paid_? He helped with the work, yes, but he received free room and board. He was _happy_ there for a while.

Bucky cannot help but suspect that this money is for other things as well. For being Tony’s companion, if only for a while. For sharing his bed even. He is disgusted with himself.

Maybe it is truly a good thing that he left. Nothing good could have come of this if they had so vastly different expectations of what they were doing. They had never discussed money, not after that first time when Bucky wanted to pay for the repairs on his arm and bike. He did not want to become Tony’s employee, exactly. And he definitely did not want to become his whore.

Well, he guesses, it is likely all right in Tony _Stark’_ s world to buy people, even for less than that.

The very sight of the sum in front of him leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, so that Bucky can barely keep himself from spitting out as he turns around, almost forgetting his credit card. He does not take the money.

 

* * *

 

When Rhodey calls, Tony is first confused, then determined to ignore it. He is in the middle of something important. But the ringing does not stop, and then JARVIS, the traitor, accepts the call without asking for his permission.

Tony is tempted to snap at him but is too slow before Rhodey’s face fills the screen in front of him, his smile morphing quickly into a full-blown frown when he takes Tony in.

“Did something happen?” Tony asks, not giving Rhodey the chance to speak first, because he wants to deal with this quickly. He has not had a coffee in hours, which always makes him grumpy.

“Funny,” Rhodey says dryly, not yet completely sarcastic but already not amused. “I wanted to ask you the same thing.”

Immediately, Tony’s mind jumps to all the things he might have done wrong now, a habit from his younger days, when Howard was always looking for Tony’s faults. To be honest, it continued long after Howard’s death, too, since Tony is exceptionally good at disappointing people.

But he has not done anything. He has been in his workshop without any outward communication. He has not even had a drop of alcohol, even though the desire for it is stronger than ever.

“Why?” he asks, noticing that he sounds slightly suspicious but does not attempt to change it. “You’re the one calling ahead of schedule.”

The frown on Rhodey’s face deepens, as he leans forward. “It’s Sunday,” he says, then stops, waiting for Tony’s reaction.

“No?” Tony sounds not as sure as he would like to. But JARVIS would have reminded him of Rhodey’s impending call, yes? Although maybe not. Since he has been ignoring JARVIS’ increasingly more frequent attempts to get him to take a break, going so far as to forbid JARVIS to turn off the music so he does not have to hear the constant nagging. Still, he plunges right ahead, “It’s Friday, at the most. I just talked with Pepper.”

Rhodey closes his eyes for a moment, grimacing like he is asking for patience. “Please don’t tell me you’ve been holed up in your workshop for four days.”

This, Tony, realizes, is a good time to change the topic. Four days is nothing, but his friends never seem to believe him. “I’m working on improving our prostheses,” he says cheerfully. “You see, it’s come to my attention that –”

“Tony,” Rhodey interrupts him gently, which is a dangerous tone of voice since it means he is just one wrong answer away from yelling, “you look like you’re about to drop dead.”

Tony does not want to, but he glances at the screen, catching sight of his own reflection. Objectively speaking, Rhodey is not wrong. The bags under his eyes seem large enough to melt in with the wild stubble of his beard. His hair is several steps away from merely unkempt already. And – apparently he is trembling. Tony raises his hand and watches his fingers shake for a long moment before dropping it back to his side. He knows better than to hope Rhodey has missed this, but is still hit hard by the look of reproach meeting him.

So, excuses are not going to work, and Tony was never good at apologies. But deflection, that he can do.

Tony adopts a pout and turns around a tablet for Rhodey to see, depicting an arm prosthesis – whatever else? – he has been working on nonstop for days.

“You’re in the Army,” he all but whines. If he is annoying enough, Tony knows from experience, his friends will leave him alone, deciding to let him stir in his own misery until he comes to his senses. “You should approve of me doing something for veterans.”

That was too confrontational, if Rhodey’s narrowed eyes are any indication. “I do, but I would prefer it if you didn’t kill yourself over it.”

Just barely, Tony keeps himself from waving his hands dismissively. “Long working hours won’t kill me.” They are what he is used to, and, essentially, the only thing that makes sense in his line of work. What use is there in interrupting an ongoing project before he has run out of ideas?

“Have you eaten anything today?” Rhodey asks, sounding so much like Pepper for a moment that Tony half expects her to appear out of thin air to chuck an apple at his head. “Had anything other than coffee?”

“Rhodey,” Tony sighs, “I’m fine. What is going on with you? I’m just doing what I’ve always done.”

Clicking his tongue, Rhodey points out, “You’re getting worse. What happened?”

_I’m an idiot,_ Tony thinks, smiling sardonically, _Because I’m trying too hard to pretend that Bucky leaving did not hurt and that I’m not lonely here, More so than before, because he reminded me of how nice it is to have company._

“Nothing happened,” he says out loud, rolling his eyes, “I’m inspired. You know how I get.”

“Do you need me to come?”

The very idea is jarring. Tony usually jumps at even the slightest chance of his best friend coming over. But the house does not quite feel like his again, and what will he do if Rhodey picks up on that? The guest room is a mess, because Tony had gone through it in a sleep-deprived rage, looking for anything Bucky might have left behind, even if it is only his scent on the bedsheets. The kitchen is still filled with food and spices that neither of his friends will ever believe he bought for himself. Even the shop is changed, having a second working place now, which is much too neat to be Tony’s.

There is too much evidence of Tony being left behind, _again_ , too much potential for shame. So, even while he knows that this will do nothing to alleviate Rhodey’s worry, he shakes his head.

“Nope, platypus. Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”

Usually, this would be the point where Rhodey says, ‘You’re never anything but trouble,’ but he stays conspicuously silent, peering into the dimly lit workshop behind Tony as if he hopes to find any proof for his concern.

“Call me if you need anything,” he then says, so gently that Tony’s guilt rises up a notch. “And go to sleep.”

When the call disconnects, Tony takes a moment to just breathe. He truly does not deserve friends like that. Even though he has no doubts that Rhodey is dialling Pepper’s number right now, and that they will conspire against him, like they usually do. Because, as they say, that is the only way to win against his over-developed ego and his equally crippling sense of self-worth.

Tony loves them, he truly does. But he is not that hopeless fifteen-year-old kid anymore that Rhodey had to save from getting himself killed at MIT.

“J, get the coffee machine running,” he says, still not moving since his legs are shaking too and he thinks he will need to take the stairs slowly. “And turn the music back on.”

 

* * *

 

The ground has never been more uncomfortable. Bucky blames this on being spoiled by Tony’s luxury mattress for so long, but he knows it is not only that.

The tent walls around him are too flimsy, the night sky too open, the noises all wrong. In a way, it is peaceful, he supposes, but he misses the constant ruckus of sleeping above a workshop: metal clanging, motors howling, the slight pounding of bass from the basement, the bots’ beeping.

He misses stumbling in on Butterfingers turning the kitchen into half a swimming pool and DUM-E holding his fire extinguisher like a trophy and You filming all of it from a wrong angle. He misses JARVIS’ gentle sarcasm. He misses someone looking at his arm with awe.

Bucky knows he is an idiot. But sleep does not come easy out here, back on the road with no clear destination in mind. His nightmares are getting more frequent again, and he almost resents the fact that he can move the arm without any pain. Otherwise, he might have been able to pretend that the time at Tony’s was just some kind of dream. But no. Reality has a habit of never letting go.

When Steve calls, Bucky says, “I’m back on the road,” and hates the short silence on the other end.

“So it didn’t work out?”

Bucky is not sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. “There was nothing to work out there,” he answers roughly, not caring that he sounds rude. Steve knows him better than that. “Just a short stop along the way.”

“To where?” Steve is still hopeful that Bucky will say _home_. And, truth be told, he does not dread it as much anymore. But he is still not ready.

“Not sure,” he says, “I’ll tell you when I get there.”

Like every night, his finger hovers over Tony’s number. He does not particularly want to talk to the genius, but he cannot delete it either. Tony’s voice still echoes inside his head, each time the road gets too long or panic creeps in at the edges of his brain.

It is not healthy to cling to someone who discarded him so easily, but health is not something Bucky has ever taken serious.

Some days, he finds himself testing the arm and bike, looking for hitches and malfunctions. Maybe all he needs is an excuse to call and say, “You did a shit job, wanna try again?”

But then he thinks of the money in his bank account and the way Tony did not even blink when he told him he was leaving, or how he went out of his way not to touch Bucky anymore even before that, except for the times they ended up in bed together, no matter that they did not actually have much to say to each other anymore.

Bucky sighs, and tries unsuccessfully to find a somewhat comfortable position on the ground. Closing his eyes, he pretends to sleep until the sun is up again and he has an excuse to keep going.

 

* * *

 

Pepper picks up almost before the first ring is over, and asks, “What happened?” by way of greeting in a tone that Tony knows he has put into her voice.

For years now, he has made nothing but trouble for her, all the while wondering why she has not left long ago. He does not ask, however, because he is afraid of the answer and, worse, of driving her away. Still, he knows he is not going to get better. It is just not in his blood.

“Pepper,” he exclaims, cheerfully, “light of my life.”

It is a good thing he did not initiate a video call. Looking down at himself, there is no hiding the fact that he has not left his workshop in days. He is greasy and smells of sweat and the hem of his shirt is singed. For once, he feels like the maniac he is, too: exhausted but still driven, body almost too tired to follow the commands of his racing mind.

“What have you done now?” Pepper changes from being worried to expecting to have to do damage control, likely thinking he blew something up.

“Can’t I just be happy to hear your voice?”

Distraction never works with Pepper, but Tony has to try nonetheless. Calling her was not quite a conscious decision. But he knows something has to change, although he cannot quite tell what, or how he wants to go about it. Pepper is usually his first choice in making sense of his warbled thoughts.

“You usually don’t,” Pepper argues, sighing, “since I only try to get you to rest or do more boring work.”

Paper rustles in the background, meaning she is probably in the office. Tony has no idea what the time is, but Pepper’s working hours are almost as bad as his. Which, again, is his fault.

“You know I love you.” Over the years, Tony has painstakingly learned to say these words. He is sure Pepper knew beforehand, because she has witnessed him at his most vulnerable, has learned to read in between the lines and not take too much stock in his masks, but he always felt he owed her more than secret smiles and nonchalance. “But about work.”

“Let me guess,” Pepper cuts him off, and he can hear her frown, “you got held up by an ingenious new idea and therefore couldn’t finish what’s on the agenda for tomorrow’s board meeting.”

“On the contrary,” Tony says brightly, feeling comically sad that her concerns are usually right. If Tony were himself right now, he would have skirted any task set for the meeting. “I did everything on the list, but then I _did_ have an idea and tweaked the design a little.” A _little_ meaning he had scrapped the thing altogether and just made something new. “You know I have no patience to write instruction manuals, so I thought it might be best if I came to the meeting.”

Silence on the other end. He hears Pepper’s breathing, feels her shift from irritated back to worried immediately.

Then, incredulously, she asks, “You what?”

Tony swallows a laugh, fearing it would come out slightly unhinged, considering the state he is in.

“Come,” he repeats patiently, “Explain it in person. I could use the chance to yell at a couple of morons down in R&D.”

Tony’s mind has already moved on, compiling a list of employees he really needs to have a word with, while Pepper is still in denial that she has actually heard him right.

“Last month I _begged_ you to accept a video call from an investor.” Which he, naturally, did not. “And now you want to come to New York for the exact same kind of meeting you always refused to even pretend listening to?”

Put like that, it sounds truly crazy. But what Pepper does not know is that Tony is feeling caged. His comfortable exile, his self-built kingdom, has turned into a prison. There are ghosts haunting the familiar walls now. Well, one ghost, and the echo of Tony’s myriad of bad decisions. He _needs_ something to change. Turning to his work has made things better for a while but not even Tony has unlimited energy. He cannot ask his friends here. He cannot just forget. Which leaves only one option: he has to leave.

Tony does not fancy the idea of returning to New York. Because if he is bothered by this one ghost here, there are a hundred waiting for him back there. But New York is alive, at least. It offers a challenge, and Tony has never backed down from those.

“What can I say?” he asks, still carefully cheerful. If Pepper were aware of his reasoning, she would never let him come back.

“How about what’s going on?” she asks, knowing him too well. “What happened?”

An honest answer to that would not go over well. _I took in a lost veteran and kind of fell in love with him but it was never going to last, and I can’t bear being alone again._

As soon as the thought registers, Tony flinches. _Love_? When did that happen? He is truly going crazy. His thing with Bucky was nice, and he would not have protested to keeping it going for a while. But Tony does not do love. Not anymore.

Pepper, on the other end, waits somewhat patiently for him to answer, hoping he will forego his usual stubbornness and tell her what is wrong with him. He does not. But when he answers, it is nonetheless the truth.

“I think it’s time to come home.”

 

* * *

 

The road has turned from refuge to the enemy. When Bucky had left home, he had not exactly been driving towards anything but just had the slim hope of finding something nonetheless. Now he is running away _again_ , and added another thing to the ever growing list of things that hurt.

The signs for New York are getting more frequent now, although he feels farther away from it than ever. The name is familiar, calling out for him, growing new roots beneath his sternum as to better pull at him, trying maybe to loosen his very seams. For days, he ignores all of them, but there is no denying the general direction he has taken.

He is not sure whether he can actually bear going back into the city, return to all things familiar. But the truth is, he has nothing holding him away anymore either. Life is as complicated there as it is here, even if it is in different ways. He is tired of it.

In the distance, he sees another sign, reads _home_ before he does _New York City_. As it comes closer by the second, Bucky feels his fingers hovering to turn on the indicator, but then it is time and he does nothing, just keeps driving ahead, into the unknown.

He is not sure whether the stinging in his chest is regret or relief. He does not know at all anymore how to interpret his thoughts and feelings since leaving Tony’s shop. It is as ridiculous as it is painful.

Bucky drives on, for miles and miles. The sun begins to set slowly, indicating that he should start looking for a place to sleep. Since he is still not touching Tony’s money, he has slept at the side of the road for the most part. It does not bother him much. On the contrary. It seems fitting somehow. He does not want comfort right now. Sometimes it is okay if everything aches.

Turning into a small side road, Bucky parks the bike but does not move yet to get out the tent. He prefers to watch the sun touch down. Steve had always liked the sunrise, waking up in the wee hours of morning to sit on their windowsill and watch the world wake up. But Bucky loves the sunset more, the way everything slips gradually into darkness, gently, like a mother’s goodnight kiss.

Bucky shakes his head. When has he become a dreamer?

He looks at the road and thinks of New York again. He thinks of Steve laughing with Peggy. Of Clint and Natasha, and Lucky whom Nat claims to detest but who always sleeps at the end of her bed. He thinks of their regular dinners together, their favourite pizza restaurant, singing karaoke.

He thinks it is time to go home.

It is not quite a conscious decision, and then one he only realizes he has made when his bike is already running again and driving down the road he has come from. He drives as the sun disappears beneath the horizon. He drives until the sign to New York comes back into view, and he greets it with a smile.

Bucky does not turn left, but keeps driving on and on as the sign vanishes quickly in the darkness behind him. He drives and does not mind the miles he brings between himself and New York.


	7. Chapter 7

The first thing Bucky notices when the shop comes into view, is the big red sign saying _We’re closed_ , which is ridiculous as it can get, because Tony never closes the shop. Bucky did not even know such a sign existed in the house. No matter what time of day, Tony does not stop working.

The second thing, which has him even more worried, is DUM-E clamouring around upstairs, seemingly pushing things from one side of the shop to the other. Anyone coming up the driveway could see or at least hear him, and no one is going to mistake him as a dog in a metal costume, which could lead to some rather awkward questions.

Bucky turns off the bike’s engine when he is still a good distance away from the door, thinking he might need the space to gather his courage. His steps are as heavy as his thoughts. Coming back does not seem as simple anymore.

“Hello?” he asks, too quiet to be actually heard over the ruckus inside.

He stands in the open door, unsure whether to go farther in. Everything looks different from just a few weeks ago, not exactly welcoming anymore but in the process of being torn down.

“Is someone there?” he asks, louder this time, although he feels ridiculous. He should go in and look for Tony. He is not searching for _someone_ but the man he has stupidly left behind.

“We’re closed,” Tony calls from somewhere inside, sounding rough and tired; a far cry from the first time he had greeted Bucky.

Bucky is just about to lose his courage when JARVIS decides to speak up, although he is not sure whether that is in his favour. “Good evening, Sergeant Barnes,” he greets, loud enough that Tony must have heard him. His tone, too, is somewhat cool, meant for strangers.

“Barnes?” Tony hollers from inside, plunging into a sudden silence.

For a brief moment, Bucky imagines to hear not just rejection in the voice. Which is an illusion he is rather quickly cured from when Tony comes into sight.

He looks worse than he sounds: utterly exhausted and his mind already somewhere far away, not here anymore in this place he has built for himself.

Motionless, they stare at each other, uncertainty settling on Bucky’s shoulders, right among the dust from the road.

“Got another problem with the bike?” Tony then asks nonchalantly, looking somewhere over Bucky’s shoulder, “so sorry, but I meant it, _we’re closed_. There’s a sign and all.”

Not too long ago, there would have been humour in Tony’s voice when saying these words. Now there is only dripping sarcasm and an absentminded kind of dismissal that hurts more than if Tony had started yelling.

“No, I –” Bucky had a speech prepared, a nice little string of explanations meant to make sense of his sudden leaving - and his return. But it all vanished into thin air the very moment Tony appeared in front of him, achingly real and yet not his to touch. “I missed you.”

A sneer transforms Tony’s face into something ugly. “So you’re here for a quick fuck?” He looks Bucky up and down, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I feel a headache coming. Maybe another time.”

For a long moment, Bucky is rendered speechless. Things had turned rather cool between them before he left, but never has Tony lashed out like this, his tone aimed to hurt. It is pathetic, really, how much of an impact it has.

“No,” Bucky says, much quieter now, “I just wanted to come back.”

And still Tony does not back down. The aggressiveness does not fade from his features. He has his arms crossed in front of him, like a shield to keep Bucky at bay.

“Need a break before you go off again to search for your treasure?”

Suddenly it all makes sense. Their conversation about Bucky being on the run to look for something, and Tony’s abrupt change of behaviour afterwards, his becoming closed off, keeping his distance instead of seeking Bucky out like before. Tony is afraid of being rejected. Felt, perhaps, that he already had been.

Feeling almost exuberant due to this realization, Bucky says, “I think I might have already found it.” His voice is soft as he looks at Tony’s exhaustion in a completely different way. If Tony actually was unaffected by Bucky’s leaving, he surely would not look like this. That is, if nothing else has happened, but Bucky cannot afford to think that way.

“Congratulations,” Tony snarls but it pearls right off Bucky. “What do you want then?”

“You.” Bucky breathes, almost laughing at not having seen it beforehand, even while the answer was right in front of him. “It was you all along.”

This, finally, pushes Tony to lose his offensive stance. Some of the tightness leaves his features as he stares at Bucky, forehead creasing into a confused frown.

“What do you mean?” he asks, growing very still as he waits for an answer.

“All this time I was looking for something but I had already found you.” Bucky gestures at the two of them and the shop around them, at this very place where he felt, if only for a short time, utterly safe. “I only realized that when I was already gone. I –” he ducks his head, heart pounding in his ears, “I’m sorry for leaving.”

Tony looks almost like he wants to argue, but stays silent. He also has not yet shut the door in Bucky’s face, so he counts that as a win.

“What did your friends say to you disappearing again so soon?” Tony then asks, sounding slightly detached, as if he needs to bring some distance between himself and Bucky’s confession.

“I never made it there.” Bucky smiles ruefully, then shrugs. “I preferred to turn around and come home.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he bites the inside of his cheek. _Home_. He has not planned to just put that out here like this, seeing as that is a relatively new revelation to himself too. He also thinks they have dealt enough in half-truths and omissions.

“Home?” Tony naturally picks up on that. His face is now unreadable. Bucky is sure that, if Tony were offended, this conversation would already be over.

So he answers with newfound confidence in his voice, “If you’ll have me.”

Tony takes a small step back, making Bucky think he has miscalculated. But then Tony nods to himself, and makes room for Bucky in the doorway.

“You had better come in then.”

The whole atmosphere of the house seems to embrace Bucky as they walk up the stairs and into the kitchen like they have done a hundred times before. Only now there is a new quality to it, too. Something tentative, almost wounded, something that keeps things from falling into place completely. It feels like the house fears being abandoned as much as the two men inside it.

“Why do you have moving boxes standing around everywhere?” Bucky asks as Tony walks towards the coffee machine. The answer is obvious, really, but he is not quite sure what to do with it. Has he spurred Tony into motion by simply disappearing out of his life, or has this been a long time coming too?

Tony takes a while to answer. Long enough to make them both coffee and slide into his usual place at the table, gesturing somewhat impatiently at Bucky to do the same, who is glad for the directive, unsure of whether he is allowed to just reclaim what he has given up.

Then the genius shrugs and says, simply, “I thought it might be time to stop running too.”

Neither of them has ever explicitly talked about their reasons that led them to meeting in the middle of nowhere. Bucky’s fears, Tony’s sudden goodbye to society. It just was their status quo; the framework in which they were able to touch instead of just drifting by each other.

But this now offers the opportunity for Bucky to ask questions that were all but forbidden before. It does not take any effort at all to keep them in. They are not quite in a position of trust with each other at the moment, and this time, Bucky wants to do this the right way.

“You want to go back,” he says, careful to make it a statement only, although he naturally wonders where _back_ is. The giant tower in New York. The flourishing company. The gleaming parties of the rich and powerful. The waiting arms of his friends.

When one has wanted to leave for so long but needs to go back anyway, how does one decide which parts of their old life to stay clear from?

“Not particularly.” Tony shrugs, not looking at Bucky but at the kitchen around them and the rooms beyond. “But there’s only so long you can avoid all the unpleasant things in your life.”

If it was in his power, Bucky would shield Tony from everything bad forever. Using this sudden urge of protectiveness, he asks the one question that has been on his mind since he turned the bike around. “If I asked you to stay –”

He chuckles, trailing off, and stares down at his hands, one flesh, one metal. Turns out he does not have enough courage after all.

“Stay where?” Tony shoots back, voice sharp. “In my home? Which I just decided to leave?”

_After you decided to leave me,_ hangs unspoken between them. Bucky feels the words sinking into his skin, echoing there.

The answer, he finds, is really simple. “Stay with me? It doesn’t matter where.”

Leaning slightly back, Tony watches him closely, maybe searching for a lie in his words.

“When did you turn into a romantic?” he questions, buying himself time.

It has Bucky smiling. “I didn’t,” he says. He truly never has been. “It’s just – How many chances can we let pass until we don’t get any new ones?”

Bucky has already gotten a second chance at life, coming back from being a prisoner of war, and a second chance at physical integrity, owning a metal arm that works almost better than his flesh one. For months now, he has been spurning his family, looking for something _more_ , and it is pure dumb luck that he has found that. He hopes he is not crazy enough to let this go. _Again_.

“Stop being so cryptic,” Tony protests, but there is a small amused tilt to his lips that has not been there before. Bucky counts it as a victory. “It doesn’t become you.”

“I already said what I meant. I want you.” How deliberating it is to finally say that. “Not as a quick fuck, as you so eloquently put it. Not as a temporary refuge. I just want _you_.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky fits as easily back into their routine as if he had never left. In the mornings, he stumbles half-asleep into the kitchen to let Tony’s coffee invigorate him. Then he goes down to the shop to work, seamlessly taking over where he has left off. The town folk does not question his reappearance. They are just glad their mechanic decided to open again, taking down the _We’re closed_ sign that none of them could really understand because Tony has not skipped work a single day since coming here.

The bots, naturally, rejoice at having Bucky back. As another human to torment, and as another friend. For the first few days, they barely leave him out of their sight, like they are prepared to physically hold him back were he to make a single step towards the door. And even JARVIS’ tone soon lightens again, turning back to easy banter with Bucky, as if his creator had never been a mess because of this man.

It is only Tony who has problems with falling back into any kind of familiarity with Bucky. Every day he is waiting for the other man to decide that this just is not worth the effort after all. Every word gets measured and analysed, every glance weighed.

When Bucky first came, it was all a game, a nice little distraction from his loneliness. He could bear it slipping slowly into something more serious, because there had been no clear expectations between them. It was just something that grew between them. But now that Bucky has come back without pretences, Tony has to face his fears head on. Tony’s mind is the kind that does not let him forget anything, so the hurt is always there, hanging around his shoulders.

It is both very hard and infinitely easy to share his space with Bucky again. Before, the house seemed almost abandoned. Now, some life has returned to it. Tony’s body too yearns for the other man’s touch, instinctively leaning closer whenever they are near each other. Their kisses feel familiar, gentle and full of promises. But he is so afraid of getting hurt again that he barely takes any step of his own, although he holds his arms wide open for Bucky to make his.

“You don’t seem very happy about my coming back,” Bucky says one night when they sit on the couch together after dinner. There is still a distance between them that Bucky’s arm around Tony’s shoulder cannot bridge.

Despite his misgivings about their situation, Tony is still himself; he does not just admit to his faults. Instead, he grins lazily up at Bucky. “My stomach just hasn’t gotten used to solid food again.”

Bucky winces, although Tony did not mean it as an accusation. He deliberately leans closer into Bucky’s warmth, which is as much of a concession that he does not want him to leave as he is capable of.

“Don’t make that face,” Tony adds, when Bucky remains stiff, on the verge of drawing back.

“I don’t want to impose.”

Which is a ridiculous thing to say to a man who is a constant imposition himself. It is widely known that Tony Stark does not do anything he does not want to do. Despite his reluctance, there is no way that Bucky would be here, in his home, if Tony wanted him gone.

“I think the bots might murder me if they’re left with only me again,” he quips, inwardly cursing himself. Things would certainly be easier if he could just say what he means for once, but dealing with emotions is hard and he has been pushed away one time too many. 

A small smile appears on Bucky’s lips. “As much as I like the little ones, they are not the ones I came back for.”

A shiver runs down Tony’s back, as it does each time Bucky says something like that. Clinging to his composure, he jokes, “Don’t say that too loud or –”

“Tony,” Bucky cuts him off gently and Tony falls gratefully silent. His friends have been telling him for years that he needs to be saved from himself. Thankfully, Bucky seems up to the task. “I’m serious. If you need me to go, I will.”

Which is both a terrible thing to hear and something almost miraculous too. No one has ever offered that to Tony before. Even Pepper and Rhodey did not. Well, they have been on the verge of leaving several times before, but for their own sakes, not for his. He understands that, naturally – more than why they stayed – but he cannot help feeling hurt.

But Bucky says it with so much conviction that there is no doubt that he means it.

“No,” Tony says, deliberately firm but still cautious, like he is not sure how the word will feel, saying it out loud. Then ducks his head, ashamed. “It’s just - I’m only used to people leaving, not them coming back.”

Bucky goes completely still for a moment, long enough that Tony thinks this is it, finally. _Again_. When he looks up, he finds that Bucky wears that wounded expression that, objectively, Tony knows is not directed at him specifically, but at their whole situation, which they let get out of hand, but it hits him hard nonetheless.

Then, Bucky moves, reluctant almost, and turns fully towards Tony, opening his arms wide as if asking for permission. Tony sighs in relief when Bucky comes towards him instead of backing away. He does not give himself any room for hesitation, Tony all but falls into the offered embrace. Inexplicably, and wonderfully, it feels like coming home.

“Take your time,” Bucky answers, and means it. If anyone gets that, sometimes, one just needs time and a bit of distance to go on, it is him. “I won’t leave again until you want me to.”

_Never_ , Tony thinks but catches the word before it can fall off his lips. He does not believe in things like that, so he simply smiles and buries his face against Bucky’s chest.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

 

* * *

 

When Bucky puts down the phone, all he can do is stare incredulously at Tony, who waits for him on the couch, sitting at an awkward angle because he had been leaning against Bucky before he had gone to answer the call.

“Steve wants me to be his best man,” he says, not quite believing the words even as he says them.

The thing it, it is not as much the question that has him shocked, but that things with Steve and Peggy have evolved so quickly. Well, he has been gone for months and the two have been eyeing each other for years, but while Bucky was stuck in the past – or at least some stagnant place he could not get out of – Steve’s life had progressed steadily. For the first time, Bucky can admit that he regrets missing so much while he was lost.

“I hope you’re not surprised by that,” Tony snorts. His expression, though, is soft, almost as if he can read Bucky’s thoughts, instinctively knowing how hard things like this are to accept sometimes. When he speaks, however, he does so with a cheerful tone, not wanting to hint at their troubles. “Even if you hadn’t told me he’s your best friend it would have been obvious. Guy calls like clockwork twice a week to ask how you’re doing.”

Walking back to the couch to reclaim his place, Bucky laughs. “As does Rhodey.” It is hard to imagine how the two of them ended up having such good friends.

With a content sigh, Tony settles back against Bucky, not shy about getting comfortable.

“I bloody well hope I’m going to be his best man too if he ever marries,” Tony mutters, hiding a grin against Bucky’s shoulder. “The stories I could tell about him – his bride would run away screaming. That’s the only fair payback for how often he cut my fun short.”

Bucky imagines he will have quite the speech to embarrass Steve too. But he loves it when Tony talks about private things like that, so he is happy to keep the attention away from him.

“I’m sure most of those stories only happened because of you,” he suggests slyly, laughing when Tony half-heartedly flips him off.

“Semantics,” he drawls, grinning. “Anyway, what’s your problem? You’re like brothers. Why wouldn’t he want you?”

Just like that, Bucky’s good mood dampens. Things have become so much better lately, but there is still quite some distance between him and the family he left behind.

“Were,” he amends, not quite able to keep the sadness out of his tone. “Were like brothers. I’ve changed.”

Tony pushes himself away from Bucky so they can better look at each other. He is frowning.

“We all change,” he says, clearly not thinking that is a bad thing. But then he would not, since he has never really liked the person he was before coming out here to open the shop. “It’s called life.”

“But –” Bucky protests, only to be interrupted firmly.

“Bucky, I clearly don’t know Steve, but I know that he cares about you,” Tony says firmly. “Yes, you have changed. But do you want to tell me that he hasn’t?”

Of course Steve has changed too. The scrawny kid he was when they were growing up, jumping headfirst into every possible fight, had not survived the war. Well, Steve still does not know when to back down, but he was given responsibility for more people than just himself out there, and while it was all right to risk his own life, he could not do the same with others.

But this protectiveness also means that Steve takes all their pains and fears as a personal failure, and Bucky seems to be full of those these days.

“I’m afraid he wants me to be who I was before,” Bucky admits. Although, at times, he can barely remember who that was. The cocky flirt from Brooklyn, the fearless soldier in training. At least he is not quite the wreck anymore either that he was right after coming back, broken and miserable and expecting the world to fall apart as he did, only to resent it for simply going on.

He can see that Tony holds back on rolling his eyes. Otherwise, his face is earnest. “He wants you to heal, yes, but he also wants you to be who you are now.”

Bucky almost laughs. He himself does not want to be who he is now, so how could Steve, who watched him grow up and then dissolve?

“What if he doesn’t?” he asks, voice comically small, which says all about his state of mind.

Tony reaches out, cautious like he always is these days. Maybe he still expects Bucky to turn away at some point. He first cups his jaw, then trails a finger over Bucky’s lips almost as if he wants to take the doubts right out of his mouth.

“You won’t ever find out if you keep running,” he says, sounding so untypically mature that Bucky fleetingly thinks JARVIS might have hijacked his creator’s voice, having gotten tired of their self-consciousness. But the expression in the brown eyes is all Tony. “In fact, if you keep pushing him away because you’re afraid of whether he accepts the changed you, you will lose him anyway.”

It makes sense, from an observer’s point of view. But Bucky is too involved to simply accept it. The cocky young boy he was still resides somewhere in the back of his mind, sharing a place with the frightened prisoner, both of them set against the broken man currently steering their ship. He wants Steve to accept him, he just thinks he is not quite ready to accept it himself.

_Acceptance is not giving up_ , Sam had said to him once, _but it is necessary for you to be able to go on._

Bucky had not believed him, but he thinks he is slowly getting there. Or maybe he is just tired of fighting a lost battle.

Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to Tony’s lips, marvelling at how simple it is, how readily Tony responds. Not everything is well between them, but they have come such a long way already. What else can Bucky do but hope that the rest of his life will work out in a similar way?

“Will you come with me?” he asks, not giving the words much thought, too caught up in how close they are to each other.

That is when Tony withdraws, letting cold rush into the space between them. “To the wedding?” he questions, incredulous.

It has Bucky turning away in embarrassment. What an idiot he is. Of course Tony does not want to get further involved in his life. They have barely just managed to stand being with each other again, opening up, taking down walls brick by brick. They unanimously agree that this is not just a fling anymore, not just a bit of fun in an otherwise regular life. They are not living on a schedule, but their being together does not feel like a thing for _forever_ yet. Going to the wedding together would mean making them into something official, something for all the world to see.

“You’re right, it is a stupid idea.” Bucky fails to keep his face neutral.

“No,” Tony exclaims, too loudly, so that he chuckles at himself and repeats it more softly, “No. I’d love to come. Just,” he hesitates, looking away from Bucky, down at himself and the living room that has become all but theirs. “Are you sure you want to take me home?”

_Home._ That word again. Bucky does not dare say it, but he thinks it is not with Steve anymore. It has been replaced by another man, quite a lot shorter but with a heart just as big.

“Of course,” he says first, to make it abundantly clear that he wants to take Tony everywhere he goes. “Why wouldn’t I want to?”

It is an obsolete question, because Bucky has a dozen answers to it himself. Mostly, it means taking Tony back to New York, which he was running from as much as Bucky did. He might not be ready to face it again, not when people could recognize him. Worse, people could see them _together_ , making them into a public thing that likely neither of them is ready for.

Tony’s answer, though, surprises him, because it has nothing to do with logistics or the press or secrecy. “They’re your family,” the genius says softly, a questioning arc to his lips.

“And you’re my –” Bucky stops himself, which leads to them looking intently at each other, waiting for how his sentence will end. But he is not sure whether he has any right to end it the way he feels it should. _Love_ is such a big word, too big to even think about it. Since coming back from the war, Tony is the first person who managed to worm past Bucky’s defences. The first to make him laugh freely. The first to remind him that life can be good and beautiful and worth living. But he is damaged, so how can he presume to speak of love?

Tony watches him struggle. Not maliciously, not expectant. Just curious. They do not owe each other anything.

“I am,” he then says, offering himself to Bucky without putting a name to it, without putting limits on themselves.

In response, Bucky smiles at him, then pulls him in for a kiss. He used to be a real smooth talker, exuding charm easily. But Tony can do that just as well for both of them so he is not sad to see his eloquence go.

“What about the shop?” he asks, wanting to be certain that Tony is not agreeing just for his sake.

“You might have missed it, but I am the owner of a multi-billion-dollar company,” Tony drawls, flashing a face that looks remotely like it belongs on the cover of some magazine. “I could close down the shop tomorrow and never open it again, and I promise you I wouldn’t starve.”

Bucky laughs. Even after finding out about Tony’s last name and entourage, he has never been quite able to picture him as the man the tabloids loved to write about. His Tony is a very different man. A better man. And life out here in the country suits him in a way that the Stark Tower in New York does not.

“All right,” he says, not giving either of them the chance to change their minds, “so I’ll tell Steve that we’re coming.” _We_ , he thinks giddily. Such an unexpected prospect, but one that has his heart racing in the best of ways.

“And ask whether he needs someone to organize the wedding,” Tony remarks casually, like this is not a big step. “Pepper’ll know someone who’ll do a good job of it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be only a small reception.” Bucky shakes his head, thankful for this fact. He used to have no problem with crowds, but now there is only a handful of people he wants to spend his time with. “None of us know that many people, and Peggy’s extended family won’t all come over from Britain.”

“All the better,” Tony grins, mischief bright in his eyes, “so we’ll be the only scandal there. Can’t wait for it.”

“Scandal?” Bucky asks, dreading the answer. Maybe Tony was thinking about the same problems about going back as Bucky has, after all. Only that he sees them as opportunities to cause mayhem.

“The long lost friend coming home with the equally long lost billionaire in tow?” Tony waves his arms as if he is writing a headline into the air, looking utterly content. “It’s almost sad the press won’t be there. Maybe Christine –”

“No press,” Bucky protests quickly, nudging Tony’s shoulder when he starts laughing in delight. “And are you – going home I mean?”

The smile stays on Tony’s face, but he grows serious nonetheless, looking at Bucky intently. “I meant what I said. You should stop running if you’re ready for it.”

Tony had seemingly lost all interest in moving once Bucky had returned. The boxes had vanished over night; the _We’re closed_ sign had landed in the trash. They were back home together.

“But you –” Bucky trails off helplessly, unsure of how to phrase his question.

Tony simply leans in close, putting their foreheads together. “If you’ll let me,” he says, voice sounding like he is making a vow, “I’ll go where you go.”

This is as far to a confession as they have come and it has Bucky staring in breathless wonder. “Come here,” he says, trailing kisses down Tony’s jaw.

“As I said,” Tony smiles, whispering against Bucky’s lips, “wherever you go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Please comment if you have the time. I'd love to hear from you.  
> All the best to you!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Check out [monkiainen's](https://monkiainen.livejournal.com/) [fanmix](https://wordsbym.livejournal.com/40296.html) for this story!
> 
> Please let me know what you think!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Cover Art] Someone to Bring me Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16748137) by [Knowmefirst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knowmefirst/pseuds/Knowmefirst)




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